Truth Can't Be Faked (5)
In the northeastern reaches of the Empire, the Black Dogs had made their headquarters in an abandoned castle.
Its former lord had fled at the end of a war, leaving the fortress without an owner. The Black Dogs had moved in afterward. The neighboring lords might have objected, but the surrounding land was barren and salt-stained, useless for cultivation. With no city nearby, none had seen any reason to send private troops to drive the criminals out.
That neglect had given Seamerd, the Black Dogs' leader, a base from which to gather his organization. His connection to a prince had also ensured that funds from the imperial family reached him, unwittingly financing the restoration of the ruined castle.
Yet now Seamerd intended to abandon it.
Rumors were spreading that Theorad Deharem had returned from the dead.
If they're true, disaster is coming for the Black Dogs.
In a basement room enclosed by pale brick, Seamerd sat at his desk, stroking his chin. He had never heard of anyone being restored to life. But the reports and evidence reaching him left little room for doubt: Theorad was alive.
Word had spread that the princess, who also served as minister of war, was protecting Theorad. A letter sent to the imperial capital had been received through the imperial family and answered, further substantiating the reports.
Seamerd had conducted a test of his own. Under an assumed identity, he had sent Theorad a letter. A reply arrived within four days.
He held it now.
To Robart, shepherd of the County of Pelgaroin,
I received your letter and am deeply grateful for your kind words.
First, allow me to apologize sincerely for the worry that the unexpected attack caused you and your family.
As a viscount bearing serious responsibilities, I deserve criticism for failing to take greater care with my safety. Had I been more cautious, you and your family would never have been made to worry.
To prevent such an occurrence in the future…
There were two more pages.
The reply was far more thoughtful than any commoner could reasonably expect from a nobleman. Though the attack had not been Theorad's fault, he had apologized, sought understanding, and described precautions he intended to take.
His concern extended to people regardless of station. Reading it, Seamerd could understand why the people of Pelgaroin held Theorad in such esteem.
He set the reply beside a copy of a letter Theorad had written before the attack and compared them again. The handwriting matched. However closely Seamerd looked, he could find no sign of a different author.
And Princess Benelia has no reason to lie…
A lie of this kind would gain her nothing. Which meant the Black Dogs would soon face retaliation.
With war approaching, Benelia could hardly detach troops from her army. But the forces of the Count of Pelgaroin were another matter. They would search for the Black Dogs' hiding place and attack as soon as they found it.
We must get out of here quickly.
Abandoning the castle and finding a new stronghold was their best hope. Seamerd had tried sending word to Prince Leonhard, but the prince had acted as though he knew nothing. Perhaps he meant to cut the Black Dogs loose. In any case, no help was coming.
Seamerd folded the letter and rose, reaching for his overcoat so that he could oversee the evacuation. Before he reached the door, hurried footsteps approached and the door flew open.
Kirdkel stumbled inside, his face drained of color. At the sight of his master, he dropped to the floor.
“M-Master! It's terrible! Theorad—Theorad Deharem…!”
Something was profoundly wrong. Seamerd knelt beside him.
“Calm yourself. Speak properly. What has Theorad Deharem done?”
Kirdkel drew several ragged breaths and looked up. The terror in his eyes made even Seamerd shudder.
“He's coming here! He's killing everyone in his way! The guards at the outpost are already…!”
The sight of his fellow guards writhing on the ground, their limbs severed, returned to him. He bent forward and retched. He tried to regain control, but vomited onto the floor and began sobbing.
“Everyone's going to die! We're all going to die…!”
The cries sounded almost deranged. Realizing he would get nothing more useful from Kirdkel, Seamerd left him there and climbed the stairs.
Armed Black Dogs were gathering aboveground. Word that the outpost had been destroyed in an instant had left every man tense.
A heavily built man approached and bowed. This was Babulo, appointed lieutenant after Tolask had been lost at Deharem Manor.
“Master! If Kirdkel's account is true, we must prepare at once! Even if the outpost has fallen, he won't be able to take this castle!”
Babulo had a point. No matter how powerful the mage, the men believed he could not destroy an entire fortress. A defensive stand would buy time until Theorad exhausted his mana. And the castle held weapons specifically intended for fighting mages.
Seamerd nodded and began issuing orders.
“Falvaranto! Climb the tower and beat the alarm drum! Wake every sleeping pup in this castle!”
“Yes, Master!”
“Gamaran! Open the armory. Distribute longbows and the special anti-mage arrows to everyone trained to shoot! We have to stop Theorad Deharem before he can cast!”
“Yes, Master!”
“Babulo! Take the archers onto the ramparts and deploy them as we practiced!”
“Understood.”
“And get the golems moving! Fit their cores and activate them. They're nearly ready to be discarded anyway. If all they do is draw out his mana, that will be enough!”
“At once!”
The men scattered to carry out his orders. Watching them go, Seamerd ground his teeth and hurried after them.
He could not understand why Theorad had come alone. But the Black Dogs were no helpless rabble to be crushed by a single mage.
Viscount Theorad, I bear you no personal grudge. But…
Anyone who attacked the Black Dogs could not be allowed to leave alive.
Some time later, Seamerd climbed onto the ramparts and inspected the archers. They were tense, but their discipline had not broken.
They knew Theorad was respected at the Mage Tower, yet none believed he had attained the level of a great mage. Seamerd had hunted mages often enough to feel confident in his preparations.
“Hold your positions, whatever happens! And be ready to call on the demons' power if the situation demands it!”
He paced along the wall, checking on his men, until a distant figure appeared. At first it was no larger than a dot. As it approached, the clothing became clear.
He really did come alone?
The overcoat associated with House Deharem, the red brooch at the throat—there was no mistaking the figure for anyone but Theorad Deharem.
Whether this was arrogance or some hidden scheme, Seamerd did not know. The visitor had reached the castle, and the fighting could no longer be avoided.
Judging the distance, Seamerd shouted until the veins stood out in his neck.
“Archers! Raise your bows!”
Arrows tipped with magic stones were nocked. Dozens of bowstrings drew taut, trembling under the strain.
One man faced all of them. Yet Theorad kept walking as though the gathering weapons meant nothing.
Seamerd clicked his tongue at such brazen insolence and swept his arm down.
“Loose!”
Dozens of arrows flew. They landed in the earth around Theorad, without a single direct hit.
That was exactly what Seamerd wanted. The magic stones embedded around the target were meant to interfere with his spells.
“Reload!”
The archers switched to ordinary killing arrows.
“Loose!”
Another volley shot toward Theorad. This time, the arrows suddenly turned in midair and hurtled back toward the ramparts.
The archers threw themselves down behind the parapet, but not all were quick enough. With sharp cracks, arrows pierced their own owners' heads. Blood sprayed as bodies dropped.
“What the hell?”
“Men are hit! Get below the wall!”
Even Seamerd was shaken.
He's surrounded by magic stones. How can he still cast spells?
He had no explanation. But if he stood there puzzling over it, they would all be killed. Theorad was still approaching.
“Open the gate! Release the golems!”
Below, the men worked the gate mechanism. The wooden doors swung outward with a grinding rumble, and the waiting golems charged into the open, shaking the ground beneath their heavy feet. Their one command was to destroy the intruder.
“Master! Look!”
At Babulo's cry, Seamerd looked up and saw a black magic circle forming in the air. Hundreds of intricate lines joined in swift succession. At the center, the enormous head of a spear was taking shape.
It was plainly an attack the castle could not endure unprotected.
“Put down the bows! Raise your wands! Form a barrier! If that spell strikes us directly, we're finished! Use the demons' power if you have to! Do you understand?”
The frightened Black Dogs drew their wands and began chanting. Seamerd joined them, adding his own mana to the spell.
A wavering barrier spread around the castle and strengthened as the chant continued. Seamerd watched it grow, then looked back toward Theorad with a flicker of hope.
If we can withstand this attack, we'll have our chance to strike back.
Even mages had limits. A spell that large ought to exhaust Theorad for a time. They could rush out while he recovered.
But why…?
Theorad was smiling.
He seemed to be mocking their efforts. A chill ran through Seamerd as he watched the figure stand calmly beneath the vast circle.
Then Theorad raised his hand and began reciting an incantation.
What? Why is he only beginning to chant now?
The circle was already complete. Seamerd could make no sense of it.
“M-Master…”
Babulo's voice faltered. He was staring upward, one hand lifted toward the sky. His former composure was gone.
Seamerd followed his gaze.
“What… what is that?”
Where there should have been one great magic circle, dozens now filled the sky.