Conquest of Avalon

Fernan VII: The Seditious

“Are you sure you want to go in?” Maxime kept his voice soft. “We don’t need you inside, necessarily. If I—”

“I’m sure,” Fernan said in a voice that was not his own. At least this time the basic form of the body was close enough not to feel so deeply wrong as the Laura lookalike, and all it had cost to borrow it for a few hours was introducing Lamante to the Condorcet representatives. What she wanted with them, Fernan hadn’t the slightest idea, but there was no way he was getting inside with his own face, so this was how it had to be.

Really, it was lucky he’d even been able to find her. If she hadn’t come back from Gaume with Gézarde, he wouldn’t have been able to set the meeting up. As it was, Gézarde had arranged it shockingly quickly, though he’d refrained from committing any of his own help, or that of his children.

“Then let’s go.” Maxime peered over the crowd assembled outside the castle gates, filling the courtyard so thoroughly that it spilled down the path, the people furthest back only barely within earshot of Michel’s speech.

Fernan grabbed Maxime’s hand and led him through the fray, the dust clouds apparently thick enough that he had a real advantage in charting a path.

Michel was standing on a small stage, barely more than the planks that comprised it, projecting his voice out as far as it could reach. “...we cannot understate the importance of love. Count Valvert doesn’t even understand the concept. Is it not the duty of a leader to provide for his people? We who have bled for the empire are left to fend for themselves. In the wake of the greatest catastrophe the world has seen in a hundred years, the Count wants merely to return to business as usual. The Fox-King was willing to distribute solar energy to grow our crops, but now that aid is at an end. All who have lost family in the White Night are without any pension to provide for them, starving children are to be left out in the cold as winter sets in. Our brothers and sisters who have suffered for years or decades under Avalon’s wrath came to us for help, eager to work and rebuild alongside us, and Valvert turned them away.”

Skirting around the side, Fernan crept closer to the castle gates, lined with guards from wall to wall.

“Were it indifference alone, we might survive, but Valvert is not content to deny us succor, he must also violate our most basic of liberties. Phillippe Montrouge was accosted and jailed without justification, and now, at the moment of his trial, his representation is being denied. Fernan Montaigne was to stand as a sage in his defense, but Valvert personally threatened to kill him if he appeared today. A hero of the White Night, protector of the innocent, savior of Valvert’s own cousin, condemned to death with no justification at all.” Michel raised his voice further for the last sentence, shouting over the roar of the crowd, which had only picked up when Fernan’s name was given.

Which really isn’t great. This shouldn’t be about me. It wasn’t about Montrouge either, really, or any one person. That was the oath the Montaignards had each taken at dawn, the scarlet dawn light streaming in through the windows of the Sun Temple.

“Doing no wrong is no longer enough to avoid the executioner’s pyre. Now we must bow to the whims of Valvert’s every evil councilor, gifting upon them the fruit of our labors for nothing, lest we be jailed and killed.” Michel paused, letting the roaring outrage build. “Each and every one of us have been taught that this tyranny is our natural state, as inevitable as the sun’s turn. I tell you, it is not! Every one of us has seen that with our own two eyes. There is another way! Wipe clear from your mind the acquiescence and apathy! Break free from the shackles within, and together we can destroy the shackles without!”

The crowd roared in support, though the individual words were impossible to make out. Michel and Mom had done their jobs well, it seemed, gathering sympathetic onlookers to remind the aristocrats that Montrouge was not alone, that all of them stood together. Fernan hadn’t been involved in that, since he wasn’t supposed to be in Guerron at all.

“We should break this up before it gets out of hand,” one of the guards muttered, glancing back inside. Fernan didn’t recognize him, which meant he’d probably come with Lady Valentine.

“On what grounds?” asked another guard, a girl whose aura Fernan had occasionally seen in and around the castle. One of Guy’s. “They’re peacefully assembling outside the castle, complaining about unjust arrests. What do you think happens if we charge in there and threaten them?”

“Then they listen to reason, or they don’t. Either way, we win.” The first guard scoffed quietly to himself. “‘On what grounds’, she says, as if Count Valvert would care in the slightest. Worst case, someone’ll have to clean up the agitator blood from the courtyard.”

It had best not come to that.

Fernan approached the second one, Maxime in hand, and presented himself before her. “We’re here for the trial. Could you let us in, please?”

“Can’t you see the closed gate? What do you think?” The Bougitte guard dipped his spear, blocking the path even more explicitly. “As if anyone would be dumb enough to invite this rabble into their house.”

“But the trials always have a gallery.” Duchess Annette’s had been filled with the well-to-do more than anyone else, which was doubtless part of why Guy’s words had been at all effective with them, but peerage still wasn’t a requirement. “You can’t just keep everyone out. Then the whole thing’s being done in secret. It defeats the purpose of a trial.”

“Does it stop criminals from getting what’s coming? No? Then clearly it isn’t a problem.”

Fernan inhaled sharply, weighing his options. He turned back to the more familiar guard, directing his next question her way. “We’re needed inside. You can see we’re not with them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Orders are orders. It’s not safe to let anyone inside.”

Maxime bristled at that. “What sort of farcical mockery of justice is this? No sages allowed for the defense, no arguments given to allege Montrouge’s guilt, no witnesses allowed? You’ve failed to even present a pretense of justice, and furthermore—”

“It’s alright.” Fernan held up an assuaging hand, then backed away from the gates.

“Why did you interrupt my tirade?” Maxime hissed, once they were out of the guards’ earshot. “I was creating a distraction for you that you might better gain entry to the trial. Now I fear we’ll have to start over.”

“Michel is distraction aplenty, and there’s another way in for us to take. We knew something like this might happen.” Though I really hoped it wouldn’t. Duchess Annette’s trial had been enough of a farce, with biased judges and forged evidence, that Fernan truly hadn’t expected Valvert to sink even lower. Why keep everyone out if you had any intention at all of conducting a fair trial?

Maxime’s face curled into a frown. “Most likely, your disguise will be forfeit if you take that route, and you’ll be alone in there besides. It would be better to find another way.”

“Don’t I know it,” Fernan sighed, reaching for his mask. He turned to face the steep mountain incline ringing the courtyard, pulling it free and feeling his eyes spark to life in the crisp autumn air. “Give this back to your new pal Lamante, then lead the others down the back way.”

“The thief of faces is hardly a friend. She was more interested in Darce and Courbet anyway” Maxime’s aura darkened, but he acquiesced, grabbing the macabre face from Fernan’s hands and tucking it away beneath his cloak.

Fernan took the opportunity to erupt with a corona of green light, thrusting himself into the air the moment he was sure Maxime was clear of the blast area.

So much for entering unobtrusively. At least using the mask hadn’t cost much, likely because Lamante supported what they were doing here. Fernan being denied entry was a solvable problem. Everyone else being locked outside was a possibility they’d planned for, but it still had the potential to make things more difficult.

And it means I need to pull my weight even more at the trial. Everyone else would be busy elsewhere.

Fernan knew exactly where to go. Félix had assured him that the chamber was the same one from Annette’s trial, with the same glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. They were reflecting enough sunlight back that it was easy to spot even from the air.

A single blast of fire shattered the glass into thousands of pieces, melting into each other on the floor where the heat lingered. Fernan dove through the new hole, landing in the trial chamber with a loud thud.

Now I have to move very quickly.

True to the promises of the guards, the gallery was deserted, leaving only the defendant, Montrouge, and Guy Valvert’s coterie, including Sire Louise de Montflanquin, who had her sword pointed at Montrouge’s neck before Fernan could even place her.

She wasn’t the only one bearing steel, either, with both Guy and Maréchal Augustin drawing their own blades and waving them towards Fernan.

Lady Valvert was in attendance as well, though she made no move to draw a weapon. “You were warned, Fernan Montaigne. You will not get a second reprieve.”

Even from up here, with the window open, Fernan could hear the people chanting after Michel in the courtyard below.

“Philippe Montrouge is on trial, and I wish to stand as the sage in his defense. He has a right to that, does he not?”

“To representation, but not yours.” Guy gestured to a guard at his side, who stood up, pointing a crossbow directly at Fernan. “In recognition of what you did for my cousin when no one else would, I’m giving you the chance to fly away right now and never come back. I’d prefer not to have you killed.”

“Have my trial right after his. Throw me on the pyre if I’m found guilty. But he’s owed a defense, and I’m here to grant it.”

Guy shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Well, we all saw you break the window, and I’m not particularly convinced by your rationale, but I’ll defer to my lady wife. Valentine?”

Lady Valvert’s aura hardened into a red-brown as she stood herself, looking out the broken window to the courtyard below. “We’ll give him all the justice he’s entitled to. And if there’s anything left of him, he’s welcome to stand beside the traitor as his guilt is ruled on.”

Are they actually acquiescing?

“Very well then.” Guy sat back down in his chair, waving the bowmen to lower their crossbows. “As Count of Dorseille and Lord Caretaker of Guerron, I do open this forum to the grievances of my denizens. Who shall issue the challenge?”

“The Empire is the aggrieved party, my lord. And so the counsel for the Empire shall issue the challenge.” Valentine’s face pulled back in a smile. “Yves, I will be overseeing this myself. Please wait in the gallery.”

Yves de Lougratte, sage of Phoenicia, vacated the solicitor’s podium and retreated to the audience, staring at Fernan as he went. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; he’d been on Lumière’s side for an even more blatantly unjust imprisonment, and the unity of the White Night was no more. Still, a disappointment.

And, now, my problem to solve.

“Justice!” Fernan could hear from the courtyard, one word spoken in hundreds of voices. He couldn’t have been the only one to hear it, either.

“One moment, Yves. Could you pass my orders down to the guards at the gate? I’d like them to break up this rabble. We’re conducting a legal proceeding, not hosting a tournament mêlée, and it ought to sound like it, too.”

“Wait—” Fernan called out uselessly as Yves ducked out of the room.

Armed guards ‘breaking up’ a peaceful demonstration? Even in the best case, it would mean everyone being driven back down the mountain. Fernan would have to deal with all of this alone.

And in the worst case… If the crowd was riled up enough, rightfully indignant enough at the blatant injustice on display… It could mean bloodshed.

I could leave now, to try to stop it. But that would leave Montrouge in the lurch, and if he jetted off after the entrance he’d just made, it would surely only harden Valvert’s resolve.

I have to trust Michel, and do my best up here. Fernan clenched the edges of the podium, feeling the flame in his eyes burn bright.

Lady Valentine took up Yves’ old position, staring down Fernan from across the trial chamber as he moved to the empty podium next to Montrouge, on the opposite side.

“What is your grievance, my scrumptious lady Valvert?” Somehow, an even more biased judge than last time.

It wouldn’t matter.

“On the fourteenth day of the seventh month, Sire Fernan Montaigne conspired to slaughter the great spirit Flammare and frame my sister, Lady Laura Bougitte, for the crime. As a representative for the Empire, I demand redress for his crime.”

“Then issue your challenge.”

Lady Valentine nodded, barely moving. “For your crimes against Laura Bougitte, I challenge you to a duel for justice, with Count Guy Valvert to bear witness.”

Remember that there was no other way. You tried so hard to find one… “I accept your challenge, Lady Valvert.”

“As the challenged party, you may name the terms of the duel,” Guy recited from his throne.

“Then I name the truth as my weapon, the law as my battlefield.” Fernan didn’t have a collection of evidence, unlike last time. Given the way the trial was being run, he didn’t think much of his chances even disregarding the fact that he was entirely guilty of exactly what Lady Valvert was accusing him of.

It wouldn’t matter.

“Will you stand and fight?” Valentine asked, still reciting the standard language.

“I shall.” Fernan didn’t know the official response, since last time he’d been acting on Duchess Annette’s behalf, but given Guy’s lack of reaction, that seemed to be good enough.

“I do not accept your terms, Sire Montaigne.” Valvert pounded her fist against the podium. “We have seen you manipulate the course of these trials to your own ends countless times. You cannot be trusted to abide by the rules.”

“So…?”

“A contest of truths and statues has no place here. I called for a duel, and I intend to see one through.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Guy said through a yawn. “Who’s to say you wouldn’t forge evidence or lie in your testimony? You wouldn’t shut up about it last time, even as you were trying to sabotage your own victory. The power of the spirits will decide your fate.”

Ah, so she’s planning on killing me before I even get the chance to defend Montrouge. Not exactly a surprise, but it clarified things. Even the limited excuse for justice that Duchess Annette had gotten was woefully out of reach for the merchant.

“I’m not here to fight.”

“But you just said that you’d stand and fight. You used the words ‘I shall’.” Guy chuckled, leaning back on his throne. “I offered to let you run, and you refused.”

“Because this man will die if no one stands up to defend him!” Fernan waved indignantly at Philippe Montrouge, who looked like he was trying to disappear into the wall. “The whole duel framing is just an ancient formality. You told me that yourself! You can’t really expect to get a fair outcome just because two people fight over it.”

“Not always,” Lady Valvert said, steel in her voice. “But today, my cause is just and my strength is greater. Justice will be done.”

“But—”

“Let the battle begin!”

Fernan barely heard the words come out before he felt something clench around his leg. Looking down, he saw arms of stone erupting from the floor, curled tightly around his foot. The moment he looked, it squeezed tighter. How did she do that? Her family served Flammare, a spirit of flame, not earth. Earth spirits didn’t even have sages, according to Camille. “You don’t need to do this.”

“But I do.” Valentine approached, gliding across the stone floor. “Flammare is no more. You and your bandit friend saw to that. Now Volobrin embodies the hearth from his seat in Mt. Glastaigne, and Tauroneo claims the Merle de Gaume caves, with me as his High Priestess.” She laughed, pulling further arms of stone to bind Fernan in place. “Do you know why? Because even after everything you did to her, Laura was looking out for me. Once you’re dead and the taint to her reputation is cleared, she can finally come home.”

Well, at least I’m holding their attention. With everything stacked against him, Fernan hadn’t expected to win the trial, or even to delay its outcome too excessively, but losing in the first second had the potential to be a huge problem. Not in the least because Valentine might just kill him immediately.

She waved down a spike of stone from the ceiling, dangling precariously above Fernan’s head.

I should have brought a pistol. With such a limited amount, and no training, Fernan had decided it’d be better off with another Montaignard… And I saw what it did to Leclaire. That wasn’t something done lightly, though that was true for everything going on today. Better to keep it to fire, which he could be sure to control, that was the thought.

But Valentine wasn’t the only one with new power. Now that Gézarde had ascended, Mara had discovered an entirely new possibility for stronger fire magic.

Fernan pushed heat up to his skin wherever the stone touched it, willing it into the rock directly. With the power of the sun, the heat was stronger than anything he’d done before, taking every ounce of his will to keep directed out instead of burning his skin.

Valentine seemed to notice the melting stone, whether by color or sense of the material, and immediately dropped the stalactite she’d created with a crash of her hand.

WIthout any time to think, Fernan blasted fire from his mouth, thrusting himself up and back as he pulled free of the molten stone. He smacked against the back wall of the chamber, sending a lance of pain through his back, then slumped to the floor.

“Valentine, my dear…” Fernan could hear Guy coughing as he spoke. “Could you clear the dust, please?”

With a nod, she waved her hand down, and Fernan could feel the air become easier to breathe. It also, presumably, let her see exactly where he’d landed. But this time he’d anticipated it, pushing off the wall as it tried to wrap around him and blasting fire from his feet to fly across the room.

With the air clear, Fernan could hear piercing screams every few seconds from down below, one part of many in the courtyard cacophony. Guy’s orders weren’t being followed without contest, clearly.

I have to end this fast before anyone else gets hurt. But beating Valentine at all seemed impossible, let alone quickly enough to be decisive and end the fighting outside. She was too clever, too strong, with magic he’d never fought before.

Lady Valvert braced herself, pulling a wall of stone from the ground, but Fernan ignored her, darting directly towards Guy Valvert.

Before he even had the chance to cry out, Fernan had grabbed him, redirecting the flames at his feet to fly out the window with the Count of Dorseille in tow, fighting his grip every second.

“Crossbows!” Lady Valvert called out, springing off the floor as it popped up beneath her feet, propelling her across the room in a single jump.

“Don’t move,” Fernan called out, trying to appear more confident than he felt. “If I see one arrow fly, Count Valvert will fall. Even if your marksmen are skilled enough to hit only me, it’s a long way down.” Not long enough to kill anyone, hopefully. But judging by the continued cries from below, it wouldn’t even be a safe place to be set down gently.

Guy pounded his fist ineffectually against Fernan, squirming in his grip. “Stop it this instant! I command you!”

“You’re the one who’ll want to stop, unless you want me to drop you.” Fernan sincerely hoped his bluff wouldn’t be called, since he had little interest in sending someone so helpless on a fall to his death, even one as thoughtless and entitled as Guy Valvert. If it came to that, he could dip down and try to leave him with Michel, but that was hardly a sure thing.

Especially if I’m shot right out of the sky before I get the chance.

“Fire,” Valentine ordered, unmoved by her husband’s plight. An instant later, the first few crossbow bolts flew towards Fernan. Only hearing the order had given him enough time to anticipate it, cutting off the fire beneath him to plunge downward, then catching himself and Guy at the last moment.

Apparently that was close enough to the ground, though, since Lady Valvert already had an L-shaped protrusion emerging from the dirt, swinging with enough power to knock Fernan down and Guy out of his hands.

Wary of being trapped again, Fernan flipped over and rocketed towards Guy, but Michel had beaten him to it, holding the barrel of a pistol to Valvert’s temple. “How did it go?”

“Turns out she’s a sage of the earth, which I didn’t even know was possible. But I’m alive and I got him. Hopefully Montrouge is safe too. He wasn’t harmed in the duel, but—”

“Details later.” He thrust the gibbering Count to Maxime, pulling his pistol free just as Lady Valvert landed in the courtyard on a descending platform of stone, crushing the people beneath her into the dirt.

“No, damn it!” No one was supposed to get hurt. Wildly optimistic, maybe, but it wasn’t like it had been impossible. And now one spiteful sister had ruined that, rightfully angry over something horrible Fernan had done when he’d felt like he had no other choice.

Just like today, he thought with a frown. Fernan sprang towards the earth sage, but she leaned back and away at just the right angle to dodge him, kicking up her feet to send the disc of stone hurtling towards Fernan.

How did she get so good at this so quickly? There weren’t even other earth sages to learn from.

Breathing heavily, Fernan jumped into the air anew to avoid being snared.

It wasn’t enough.

The castle walls closed around him like a book, crushing against him.

Lady Valvert was smirking as she closed them tighter.

Fernan could see jets of flame in green and yellow erupting in the sky above, either his eyes playing tricks or a battle between Mara and one of the other sages. He could see through the dust just fine, but he could feel it in every breath he took, causing him to choke.

Mixed with the dust, warm blood coated the courtyard, with at least ten bodies that Fernan could count buried under Valvert’s rubble. The guards of the gate were dead too, bleeding out from pistol wounds from the ambush.

The edges of his vision were dimming, each breath harder than the last, and there was far too much stone here to melt an escape, especially now that Valvert knew the trick. Still, he tried, since there was nothing else to do, pushing heat from every inch of his skin while his feet blasted solar flares into the stone. With his concentration, he could feel himself get burned at the ankle and wrist, then his thigh, as the heat splashed back.

But it wouldn’t be enough.

Valentine Valvert was high atop a pillar of stone, staring down at Fernan with undisguised satisfaction as she squeezed the life out of him.

I’m sorry, Fernan thought, a moment before he heard a crack of thunder.

A pistol.

They made it.

The plan had been for Maxime and Mom to lead the dozen or so Montaignards that were trained with pistols through Florette’s tunnel, being ready on hand in case the trial didn’t go well. Which they seemed so dead certain about, it’s annoying that this proved them right.

Valvert fell, the pillar retreating into the earth as her body slumped down. Fernan felt the pressure ease around him, and mustered the last of his strength to fire himself free of the stone’s embrace. Alive or dead, she was out of this fight.

As am I…

Fernan tried to pull himself to his feet, failed, and slumped into the dirt.