Conquest of Avalon

Luce VI: The Linchpin

For once, everything was going to plan.

Evacuating the mills and forester camps was the sort of thing that could only last so long before one of the owners tried their luck to remedy the hole in their pockets, drawing on a desperate labor force in an even more urgent situation. Already, Luce’s guards had needed to beat back three separate attempts to cross the river, one of them explicitly backed by the Lyrion League—or so admitted the culprits in Charlotte’s interrogation.

If the rumors Charlotte was hearing about Simone Leigh picking up volunteers from remaining Avaline colonists in Malin were any indication, it wouldn’t be long before the incursions were backed with rebel soldiers, rather than industrial guards unlikely to want to die over it. And from there, only a matter of time before full scale fighting broke out on the banks of the Rhan.

The forest needed to be protected, and Luce’s guards had trouble enough enforcing order in Charenton proper, outnumbered and of dubious legitimacy as they were. They didn’t have nearly the numbers for an adequate perimeter of the Rhan, even if they abandoned all other duties, and while his aegis of royal authority had been sufficient for the three-man patrol to send the previous incursions home, it wouldn’t stand up to Leigh’s band of rebels in the event of a fight.

Luce had needed more bodies, more soldiers willing to defend the forest from incursion, and he needed a way to put them there without being seen to betray Avalon’s interests or Charenton’s. After Malin, he knew better than to try to wait the problem out, but a show of force had its limitations too. It wasn’t like Perimont’s gratuitous executions had done anything to quell the flames of discontent, after all; it had only made things worse even from the most strictly pragmatic reading of events, let alone the massive human cost it had incurred.

Inviting Cya to occupy the mills had been the perfect solution, ensuring adequate protection from a source that wouldn’t endanger his authority by doing it. Luce had even managed to pass the word on through Rhan, ensuring no risk of being spotted communicating with ‘the enemy’, all the more valuable after news arrived of the massacre back east.

The fall of Lorraine had done little to secure the Arboreum’s capitulation, and the puppet noblewoman that General Echols had installed to usurp Her Verdance hadn’t even managed to have her tenure last into winter before washing up on the shore, filled with over a hundred stab wounds. According to Graves’ intelligence, Echols and the occupation forces were still finding bodies washing up on shore, picked off one by one whenever they ventured outside the safety of Lorraine’s walls.

The Red Knight had no small part in that, Luce was sure. He’d been the one to rescue Her Verdance from the siege of Lorraine, the one to burn eight of Echols’ ships in Lorraine’s harbor, condemning over a hundred people to a gruesome watery grave a stone’s throw from the shore. They’d even barred the doors leading belowdecks, ensuring that no one within could escape death. A part of Luce still wondered briefly if Laura Bougitte had been the one behind that, given her prior attempt on his own ship, but it didn’t feel right. Destroying the ships was an act of war, one of many, and not unwarranted given the provocation, but locking the doors was sadistic, done only with the goal of killing as many people as possible. That didn’t fit the girl ineptly spoiling for a duel, who’d helped depose the tyrant Flammare and provided genuinely invaluable information about Rhan.

Though perhaps I just want to believe it. If she was behind it, my failing to keep her captive is directly responsible for all those deaths. No good would come of blinded eyes to the truth, but there was no way to know for now, and even Charlotte had agreed that it didn’t seem to fit Bougitte’s style.

Regardless of who’d perpetrated the massacre, the Red Knight was certainly the one who’d linked up with Cya and shored up her defenses of the Rhan border, and the one sitting at this table now, negotiating. That much had been a surprise, especially when he’d last been spotted far to the east, and he carried with him the threat of similar murders here as he’d pulled in Lorraine, but so far he’d done nothing more than help Cya defend her lands, which was vastly preferable to him stabbing more people.

Cya was accompanied by an arboreal revenant looming behind her, bleached stark white like her dead side, a sharp contrast to her red and orange leaves on the other. Luce had Charlotte doing much the same. She wore the Gloves of Teruvo she’d spent so much time practicing with, still on loan as the deal with Rhan proceeded in order to ensure that Luce had the firepower to enforce his end of it. For once, the long lives of spirits was an advantage, as swearing to return them after a few years instead of right away had been a nearly trivial concession, especially once the river spirit had heard what Luce intended with Cya.

Luce felt a faint touch of water hit his face, a mild drizzle in the cold autumn air, but neither Cya nor the Red Knight saw fit to remark on it, so he refrained as well. Dark grey drops began to dot the cracked table they were sitting at, temporarily staining the stone. But the lantern remained burning, protected by its roof, which was good. Having to conduct an actual negotiation and a false performance for Camille Leclaire at the same time would probably be beyond him, and it seemed that nothing but light could fully occlude the conversation from unwanted listeners.

“You ought to be grateful,” the Red Knight announced, his voice booming out of his surprisingly-well-polished helmet as he took his seat. “Your countrymen are less likely to try anything stupid with the east bank under our protection.”

True enough, but there’s a good chance your reputation makes you more trouble than you’re worth. “As I was telling Cya, things are delicate enough in Charenton as it is. The mill owners and their employees are just one part of it, and they need discouragement, not a massacre. If James Moncrieff washes up on shore with fifty stab wounds, it’s only going to make things worse.”

“For you,” the Red Knight said dismissively, the companion behind him shrugging a moment later.

“At first. But if I’m unseated here, it doesn’t mean anything good for you. Whoever seizes power in the aftermath, the first thing they’ll do is lead a band across the Rhan to retake Cya’s lands. That’s not a fight you want.”

The Red Knight laughed. “A chance to dye the Rhan red with Avaline blood? You have no idea what I want, Prince of Darkness.”

Well, that’s about the worst possible thing you could have said to that. “Were you behind the night of burning ships, out in Lorraine?”

“Indeed. You would do well to remember that, when considering what threats to levy at us.”

Behind him, Luce could hear Charlotte pull back her cloak to reveal the pistol at her belt. Without turning around, he gave the slightest shake of his head. Not what we’re here for. “Was Laura Bougitte involved?” Do I bear some responsibility?

“Laura?” Momentarily, the Red Knight was taken aback. “No. That was all my handiwork, and the proud men serving under me in the noble fight against Avalon. As was the liberation of Her Verdance, and the just execution of the traitor who thought to usurp her in Avalon’s name. If you think the threat of battle will stay my hand, Prince of Darkness, you are sorely mistaken.”

Damn it. Cya alone was practically an ally at this point, whatever appearances Luce needed to keep up, but this knight…

“Fortunately, the decision is not yours to make, Knight of Dawn. The forests of Refuge belong to me and my children for as long as we stand, and the Prince of Darkness recognizes that better than most humans, including yourself.” The wind whistled through Cya’s red leaves, blowing back the rain into the Red Knight’s helmet as she spoke. “If you truly believe that the White Sheep’s death would mean anything good for Refuge or for us, then you are exactly the thoughtless fool that so many believe you to be.”

Luce couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the knight’s visible indignation, though it probably wasn’t helping when it came to averting a battle here. “I’m pleased to hear you say that, Cya. It’s my hope that you won’t have to defend your side of the Rhan for overly long. As long as the millers and foresters can be put to work in another role, they’ll want for any reason to intrude on your domain. Farming can hopefully account for most of it once they get themselves up to speed on the procedures, and as soon as I secure funding and engineers from Cambria, a new slate of public works projects should keep the rest busy long enough to reorient Charenton’s industries and personnel.”

Some would likely end up staffing the new research facility Luce was having designed by Cambrian Design, the firm responsible for that new hotel in Seaworn, along with more than half of his other projects. They’d be setting up an office in Charenton in short order, closer to the ground, for much the same benefits as Luce expected to reap in doing the same.

“And the owners? Such as the esteemed Monsieur Moncrieff?”

He heard about that? “They’ll be compensated for their property,” Luce answered, as if it were nearly that simple. “If they prove truly obstinate, they’ll turn to the rebels, and a simple arrest will sweep them off the board. One of Charlotte’s is already posing as a rebel, embedded with Moncrieff and several of his hangers on, ready to pounce the moment he lets any disloyalty slip.” Charlotte had gotten the idea, apparently, back in Malin, a way to keep tabs on Leclaire’s Acolytes of Levian, which certainly would have been useful if she’d had the resources to do it then. Hopefully this would forestall any similar moves against them.

The Red Knight let out a small laugh, almost inaudible beneath the patter of the rain on his helmet. “If ever you require a more permanent answer, I do hope you’ll think of me. I wouldn’t require any payments or concession for the privilege.”

“Thank you,” said Luce, careful not to give away that he had no intention to even consider it. It’s bad enough what people say about me now, if I hand prisoners over to the Red Knight, no one would ever trust me again.

They spent another half hour or so working out the details, but Cya’s chastisement seemed to have curbed the Red Knight’s worst impulses, and he was amenable enough to the bounds of the secret peace they established. Cya, insightful and informed as she was, seemed to have no trouble trusting Luce’s good intentions, which was a remarkably refreshing change of pace. He didn’t blame Rhan for being suspicious, especially given what had just happened in Micheltaigne, but that negotiation had taken hours, shivering in the frigid water as its spirit circled menacingly.

Then they parted ways, grabbing the lantern without extinguishing it, and leaving Cya and the Red Knight to their defense. Luce felt Charlotte fall into step beside him, huddling close in the rain, neither of them saying a word until they were absolutely certain to be free of prying ears.

When Charlotte did speak, she said something surprising. “He’s not from the Arboreum.”

“The Red Knight?” He’s only been active in the forests in and around it, including now. A native defender made the most sense, and had been what they’d both suspected most before now. “What makes you so sure?”

“His sabre. The Arboreum abhors any weapons with a sharp edge, an affront to the life such things are wielded to cut through. The Red Knight’s sword was slightly curved, and the guard matched the other sabres I’ve seen perfectly. It’s designed to be wielded from horseback, swung to slice through the battle with the edge of the blade. But he wasn’t ahorse, nor was his companion.”

“Interesting… They had to travel through the wasteland; that could have been enough to kill their animals, or perhaps they weren’t suited to the sort of ambush fighting and sabotage they got up to in Lorraine…”

“Or the Red Knight’s band is hiding cavalry in the forest, ready to sweep in the moment we think we have them pinned.” Charlotte looked back over her shoulder into the lifeless husks of the forest. “We should have a sweep conducted to be sure either way, but I doubt anyone could survey the area without drawing Cya’s notice.”

I could ask her, but I don’t know if she’d tell us, and either way it could tip the Red Knight off. Better to keep things discreet. “If they have horses, they’ll be feeding them somehow, and I doubt they’re getting much grain from the dead forest or a baggage train from Lorraine.”

“Good thinking. I’ll post guards incognito at the silos. If they try to skim anything, it could double as a way to learn more about the Red Knight’s band.”

“Thank you.” Luce pulled her closer, trying to shield her from as much of the rain blowing towards them as he could while they approached the gates back into the city.

Colored half in orange and half in black, the city gates no longer bore the insignia of the Verrou family, and Ticent hadn’t deemed fit to replace it with anything, so the center had an awkward blank circle of orange bronze where the design had used to be. Two of Luce’s guards saluted him as he and Charlotte approached, opening the gates so smoothly that they didn’t even need to slow down.

Inside, the aftermath of Sauin was still inescapable, rotting pumpkins littering the street where families had discarded them in the wake of the holiday. Several of the floats from the parade hadn’t been cleared either, wood dyed black in the increasingly-heavy rain.

Some of the crumbling figures, like the melting paper Pantera or the twin forms of the Rhan, Luce could recognize even in their dilapidated state, but most of others must have been local spirits he hadn’t learned of, or perhaps other dead ones.

Somewhat poor taste, considering how many people are dead because of the Undying, but I’m unpopular enough here without imposing rules about how they celebrate their holidays. Charenton had been independent until quite recently, only in Avalon’s sphere of influence for decades; it was entirely expected that their traditions would differ somewhat.

The rain was only picking up further, but now at least there were buildings whose shadow they could skirt, heading north from the gates towards the Magister’s palace where Luce had set up shop. The streets were eerily empty, most likely because of the climate, yet Luce could hear distant chanting, growing less faint the closer they got.

Charlotte picked up the words before Luce could, mouthing them with a worried expression on her face. “Death to tyrants. Death to Avalon. Death to the Prince of Darkness…”

Luce felt himself stop moving, eyes widening as the rain splattered his face.

“We’re getting you to safety now.” Charlotte grabbed his hand and pulled him aside, ducking into an alley to the right. Taking me to the ship. Luce could feel the warmth at the contact, not unwelcome in the cold, but he couldn’t just run again.

“You just want to ignore it? We have to do something or we’ll lose Charenton. Everything we’re building, the agreements we just established—”

“Will mean nothing if you die. Do you remember what happened last time you got too close to a rebel crowd?”

I was lucky the mob didn’t kill me, then I was captured by Anya Stewart. If not for her son’s flash of decency, Luce might still be imprisoned aboard her ship.

But either way, Malin was lost.

“I didn’t have you to keep me safe.” Luce turned aside, not letting go of her hand, and began his march toward the sounds of commotion. I can’t solve the problem without knowing what’s going on, can’t just give up without a fight. Not again.

For a moment, he felt Charlotte pull against him, unmoving, strong enough to stop Luce dead in his tracks. Then she relented, falling into step beside him once more. “As soon as they’re in sight, we stop going towards them and start circling the perimeter. If Graves has half a brain, he’ll have guards gathered here already that we can rendezvous with.”

As the chanting grew louder, Luce began to hear what he thought were scattered cries in Imperial, though beneath the rain and the much stronger Avaline shouting, it was impossible to be sure. Native Charentine, perhaps. There were more of them left than in Lyrion, thanks to Ticent’s halfhearted efforts to resist his orders, and they’d been no happier with Luce’s takeover than the Avaline.

Simone Leigh and what had to be over a hundred rebels ready for a fight, with hundreds more Charentine civilians, were gathered outside the Magister’s palace, filling the square in front of it and spilling down the path down to the harbor. In the distance, it looked like several rebels were gathered in front of Luce’s ship, staring down four of his guards from the dock.

Graves had about ten guards with him on the palace steps, drawn into an uneasy half circle as the rain and invective blasted them in the face.

“We need to help them,” Luce told Charlotte, seeing her brow wrinkle at the thought of getting closer to the rebel leader.

“No safe way to do it. We should relieve the ship crew first.”

And let the palace get overrun? Luce shook his head, pointing. “That alley will take us around to the back of the palace. If we can climb up to the roof, there’s a door leading inside that you could force open.”

“Climb up the wall? Surely you can’t be serious.”

“I am.” And don’t call me Shirley, Luce thought fleetingly, remembering one of Father’s old jokes with a pang. “You’ve been practicing with the Gloves of Teruvo, I know you’re strong enough to lift me. Do you not think you can do it?”

“No, of course I could, but—”

“Great, then there’s no time to lose!” Luce began running through the alley, trusting Charlotte to follow. When they reached the back of the palace, Luce was panting, but Charlotte kept the same measured step. She pulled out the Gloves and put them on, experimentally testing their grip against the wet stone wall.

It held.

“Can you hold your own weight? This will probably be easiest if you can cling onto my shoulders.”

‘Easy’ was the last thought on Luce’s mind as he hung on for dear life, blasted by more and more of the wind and rain as they ascended. By the time he reached the roof, already covered in ankle-deep puddles, it was almost blinding.

Charlotte bashed the door in with her shoulder, sending it sliding down the stairs. The two of them followed it down as fast as they dared on the slick steps, Luce feeling his chest burn with the exertion, but spared the briefest of moments to compose himself before stepping outside.

“You will disband immediately, or face the wrath of—” Graves interrupted himself as Luce approached, greeting him with a crisp salute. “Today’s password is Symbiosis, Your Highness. I apologize, I was not aware that you were inside. I’m sure Charlotte can help evacuate you while we deal with this issue.”

She’d love to try. “What issue is that, precisely?” Luce projected his voice out as far as he could, trying to cut through the patter of the rain.

“These vagabonds—”

“Freedom fighters.” Simone Leigh stepped three paces in front of her rebel lines, seemingly unbothered by the rain. “We require entrance to the armory in the name of securing Charenton’s defense. And we’ll have it, whatever your thirty guards have to say about it.” She turned back towards her followers, flicking her head to signal them. Immediately, the front ten lifted their coats to show the pistols on their belts. “You’re outgunned here, Grimoire.”

“Leclaire armed you?” That went a great deal beyond the implied peace while Father remained captive, like she was daring him to mount a stronger response.

“Leclaire had nothing to do with it. Told us to fuck off almost as soon as we made it to the city. But that was enough. Plenty of brave men and women there who remembered your tyrannical rule and were happy to volunteer their help. And as for the pistols, nothing but the free market.” Leigh smiled, barely visible behind the torrential rain. “Since you did me the favor of staying my execution long enough for me to escape, I’ll offer you this one courtesy: Stand down, relinquish Charenton, get on your ship and scurry back to your brother.”

Return to Avalon a failure once again, breaking my agreements with Rhan and Cya. “Or what?”

Leigh let out an incredulous chuckle. “Or you get a ball of lead through your heart, and one for your lieutenant too. Last chance, Prince of Darkness.” She flicked her head again, and the rebels put their hands on their pistols. Behind them, others were drawing their swords. One of them even unfurled a flag, four stripes in the colors of Dimanche, Ombresse, Lyrion, and Charenton.

Charlotte signaled Luce’s guards to ready their own weapons, a larger quantity of pistols than Leigh boasted, though they were definitely outnumbered. Luce couldn’t articulate a reason to rescind the order, though there had to be some other way around this.

In the distance, he could see the water swelling, a wave crashing over a wooden bridge near the water and dashing it to splinters. The ruined bridge was swept seaward as the sky darkened, the green banks of the Rhan blackening under dark skies.

Luce didn’t see who fired the first shot. He only heard it, followed by an explosive patter of more as his own guards fired into the crowd. Before he could fully react, he felt Charlotte pull him out of the way, crouching down behind Graves as she fired her pistol over his head.

“Get back inside!” he yelled. The palace would be more defensible, and now that he knew the rebels wanted the arms inside, they could deny them what they wanted so long as they held it.

It all made a twisted kind of sense, starting here. Luce was one of the only Territorial administrators without ties to the Lyrion League, one of the least popular Avaline figures this side of the Lyrion sea, and he’d helped make their grievances about Avalon about himself instead. By the time Avalon could send a response, the rebels would have already seized massive amounts of armaments and fortified the coast.

Unless they were defeated here and now.

“Bar the doors,” Charlotte ordered, already leading Luce upstairs. “Graves, I want constant fire until the way is blocked. Suppress any of their attacks. Once the building is secured, we can—”

Her words were interrupted with a rush of water, a thunderous wave crashing straight through the front of the palace, as high as Luce’s waist. The doors splintered under the assault, leaving a clear view of Leigh’s rebels desperately trying to recover outside, dull black blood dispersing through the water as it receded.

Luce could already see the next wave swelling behind it, a dark shape riding atop it. Scaled, serpentine, it moved up and down the wave faster than Luce’s eye could follow, slitted blue eyes coming into focus as it got closer.

A spirit. Could the Red Knight have rallied one to ‘help’? Something like this would certainly fit his style. If so, Luce had to dismantle this bloody scheme immediately.

“It’s Levian…” Charlotte breathed, slow to compose herself.

Levian, then. Leclaire’s spirit. That could complicate things. Had she sent him after the rebels, either to aid or hinder them? Would she subject Charenton to this just to further her machinations?

Does it even matter, when I’m the only one who even has a chance at stopping it?

Luce stepped out into the square, waving his arms at the Torrent of the Deep. “Stop! This is not the way to do it! I have agreements worked out! You need to stand down, Great Spirit. In the name of Cya, of Rhan, of—”

He felt a searing pain in his eye as the spirit swiped a narrow blade of water towards him, feeling his sight slip away under the blood and rain. Luce collapsed into Charlotte’s arms as she dragged him away, the sounds of gunfire drowned by the storm.