I recently reread a couple of the RA books (still haven't read Royal Ranger. No spoilers, please!) and I realized I had a few discontinuities. The big one was that I thought Toscana was lead by a monarchy, when actually a Senate is in charge. I've changed that in previous chapters, and I'm telling you now so there's no later confusion.
~53~ A Twist in Plans
Julius had never seen the Aetius so angry. Even without words or a face to express his rage, his very aura roiled red. The physician was grateful he was standing several paces back from the table lined with nobles and commanders, and thus not in the line of fire.
The warlord continued to pace up and down the table, limping, breath rasping. The incense smouldering in the four corners of the council chamber wasn't quite enough to mask the stench of sickness. Julius could see the men were taut in their seats.
"One task," the Aetius toned behind his mask, words lisped. "One. And she failed."
Lord Septimus leaned forward, candlelight making his sunken eyes even more haunted. "She could not kill the man who saved her. To be bold, my lord, I did advise—"
"She was going to," the Aetius snapped. "But for some reason, the Genovesan exile stopped her. Why?" He smacked a goblet off the table. It clattered against the wall, leaving a scarlet flower weeping down the marble.
Another noble, Lord Fabio, spoke up meekly. "Perhaps he feared her more than the Ranger?"
"I lost thousands," the head of House Opus continued. "Thousands."
Julius pretended to notice something vastly fascinating on the base of a pillar. It was he who, with various subtle means, had convinced so many to bet on the survival of Will Treaty, and bet high. Now their pockets were lined with the game's outcome, rather than emptied into the Arena's coffers as intended. It had been a major blow to the Aetius' plans.
"We all knew the risks of having so many Champions in one game," Septimus ventured. "Anything could have happened. Perhaps if we had told Rodrigo what we'd intended..."
"And risk the exposure of us all?" The Aetius stopped pacing, staring at a relief in the wall. "No one outside this room is to know of our meddling, you fool."
"I understand, my lord, but—"
"Enough. Get out."
"My lord—"
"Now!"
A muscle jumping in his jaw, Septimus stood to obey, bowing lightly to his master's back before following his fellows. Julius was waiting for his turn to leave the chamber when he suddenly turned. His instincts proved true – the eagle was staring at him.
"You. Physician. Stay here."
Julius managed not to swallow, bowing his head and moving back into the room. "Do you require medicine, my lord?"
The lord of the mountain did not answer, and Julius kept his eyes down. Even when the door closed with a reverberating boom, he held his tongue.
"How does the Ranger fair?" the eagle asked at last, voice level.
Julius shifted. "He hasn't woken yet, but his body is stable. It's only a matter of time."
"That is good."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
The Aetius moved to the head of the table. He had one thumb that still worked, and used it with the bandaged mass that was the rest of his hand to pour himself a cup of wine. Setting the pitcher down, he moved it on the table just so before picking up the cup. Through his mask he regarded the cup's crimson depths.
"Will Treaty. What kind of a name is that? He isn't big enough to fill it."
Julius wisely said nothing, eyes down like a servant.
"You would call him your friend."
Now he looked up, bewildered. "My lord?"
"You do not seem displeased he is still alive."
"I am indifferent, signore. I have no love nor hatred for the Araluan."
"You surprise me. He saved your brother once, did he not?"
"Half brother," Julius blurted, before paling. "My lord."
The Aetius waited.
"...I kept Will alive when the wargal venom nearly claimed his life. I could have let him perish and captured his mentor for you instead, but I chose not to. The scales are balanced."
"Would your brother think otherwise?"
He saw the physician stir uncomfortably. "I have not seen Niccolò for a few weeks, now. If he cared, he would be here." He shifted again. "My lord, what is it you—?"
"Do you believe Will Treaty has a chance against Rodrigo?"
Thoughtful lines creased the physician's face. "I...I do not know, my lord...The Ranger's skill with the bow surpasses the exile's, but Rodrigo has cards of his own that Rangers do not touch."
"Poisons."
He nodded. "I know they're not permitted in the Games, but...neither is hoodwinking those who wager."
"You think he would stoop so low?"
Again Julius looked thoughtful. "...If he could get away clean, then yes, I believe he would poison his way to the top."
"Mm hm." The Aetius stared into his cup of wine.
"...Why...why are you asking, my lord?"
The warlord looked at him. "Why are you asking why?"
"I was just wondering...who is it you plan on having win the Munerian Games?"
He regarded the physician levelly. "That is none of your concern."
"My lord," said Julius, bowing his head again. At the other man's wave of dismissal, he left.
The Aetius watched the door close, then removed his mask and took a sip of wine. He tasted nothing.
Ϯ Ϯ Ϯ
Rodrigo picked the lock to the physician's quarters in moments, slipping inside and closing the door. Engulfed in darkness, the Genovesan exile let his eyes adjust to the light from the few candles and trickle of dusk peeking in through the shutters. When he could see, he began to riffle through the cupboards, not above thievery when it came to getting what he needed.
CRACK!
He whirled around at the light that briefly illuminated the room through the window. It faded, only to be followed by a second crack and brightness. He pushed open the window, overlooking the Arena. He jumped as another a sparkling flower lit up the sky, the sound rolling away like thunder. The stars were dim in comparison.
The last time he'd seen such a spectacle was the day Sir Piere of Gallica had been slain. It was a tribute to fallen Champions, courtesy of Jafar's experiments. And now they reminded all of the deaths of two more.
Rodrigo turned away. The light allowed him to see someone lying on a cot in the far corner. Rodrigo picked up a candle and brought it closer. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Will Treaty lying there, but he was.
Slow breathing indicated sleep. Lack of other movement indicated a deep sleep. A drugged sleep. Rodrigo knelt by his head, pushing one of Will's eyelids up with a thumb. The eye was rolled up, as it should be.
He let the eyelid fall closed. "Twice I've saved your skin, Ranger," said Rodrigo, standing. "You can only repay a life debt once."
Another firecracker exploded outside. Will made a sound. It almost sounded like he'd spoken a name. Or given a command. Halt?
He scanned Will's face, then placed a hand over his mouth, pinching his nose shut at the same time. Impassive, he watched his chest cease to rise, then buck as it tried to inhale. Lines appeared on Will's brow and he kept seizing, fighting for consciousness. Rodrigo waited until he saw the Ranger's eyes move behind their lids before releasing his mouth and nose. Will sucked in air, eyes opening slightly, sightlessly, before closing again.
Rodrigo allowed a rare smirk to tug at his lips. "You tried to kill me. After all I've done for you." He poked at the violet blotches on Will's neck, making him stir in distress again.
Sniffing indifferently, Rodrigo stood and returned to the cupboards, taking however much he wanted of whatever he wanted. His stores were low, and it would be too difficult to try and acquire aconite by any means other than stealing. Not to mention slow.
Rodrigo slipped out of the quarters as silently as he came, pockets full. And so when Will woke, hours later, he woke alone.
"Save s'm for me, Horace," he slurred, drifting in a doze for a few moments before realizing he was awake, and not by the morning campfire with breakfast ready. He shifted under the covers, then groaned, feeling like he'd been kicked by a horse. Twice.
His eyes soon saw through the darkness, and he pushed himself up to rest on his arms. The blanket slipped off his chest. He rubbed his face, stubble on his jaw pricking his fingers, and frowned as he struggled to remember the previous day. What happened? Why was he here and not in his chamber, awaiting his time to fight in the Arena again?
He swallowed, throat raw. His tongue tasted furry and there was a throb behind his eyes. He counted every time he felt the pulse; thinking took too much effort.
When he had strength enough, he slipped his legs off the bed, using the bedside table to help himself stand. He shook a little, and so used the privacy screen to advance further into the room. The smell indicated a medical ward. Probably Julius'.
The day was a blur. He remembered seeing Razeen dead. The Toscan "god" Mares felled by Will's throwing knife. A sickly sweet smell that burned his nostrils and squeezed his lungs until he weakened. Muriel approaching with a blade, a hard look of sorrow on her face. Then...then...
Try as he might, he could not remember anything further. He must have blacked out. But that would have left him defenceless – how was he still alive?
When he felt he could, he made his way over to the door, opening it cautiously. The corridor was empty and he slipped out, somehow making it to his own chambers without incident. His clothes and weapons were waiting for him, cleaned and cared for.
Will spent a few minutes finding and lighting candles, but only a few – the torches in the corridor had made his eyes throb, and the semi-darkness suited him fine. Then he filled a goblet with water from a pitcher and collapsed in a chair, the same chair he'd sat on when he'd first spoken to Muriel. The Hibernian had sneaked into his chambers before the Games began, hoping to catch him unawares. Will had spotted her instantly, yet rather than confronting her, sat and invited her to do the same.
That was the day he'd learned of her family, and her vow to survive the Games, no matter the cost.
Will took a sip of water, letting it sit in his mouth and soften his tongue. Maybe it was the last dregs of the smoky drug he'd inhaled, but he was having difficulty feeling any level of pity at the moment...
He jolted awake. Dawn peered in through the latticework, casting his face in gold. He grasped tighter onto his empty cup before he could drop it and sat up, stretching. He noticed a pool of water on the floor, and realized he must have dozed off mid-thought. He sighed.
A knock on the door. He looked over in surprise. "Who is it?"
"Oslave."
Will hesitated, then said, "Come in."
The burly Skandian opened the door, blocking out the light from the corridor, before closing it behind him. "Well?"
"I'm alive," said Will, slumping in his seat. Oslave sat himself down in the other chair, the one Muriel had used several days ago. It creaked beneath his weight.
"I have to admit, I thought you were done for."
"By rights, I should have been." Will stood and poured himself a fresh cup of water. He took a sip, slewing it around in his mouth to eliminate the foul taste on his tongue, and sat down again. "What happened?"
"You can't remember?"
Will merely looked at him.
"Muriel is dead."
Now he looked away, teeth clenching together. "As I...thought." He released a tight breath. "Rodrigo?"
Oslave nodded, then shrugged his massive shoulders. "It was either you or her."
"Why not both?"
That made him pause.
"I was supposed to die anyway," Will continued. He only realized it now – a few days ago Rodrigo had warned Muriel not to do something. Neither of them indulged an explanation to him, but now he understood. Rodrigo had a contact, a mole in the Aetius' court who was relaying information to him regarding upcoming Games. Muriel must have been told to kill Will, and the Genovesan exile learned of it and tried to tell her off.
Oslave stared at him, but could not figure out the thoughtful look on Will's face. "There are three days left."
Will nodded. "Three days, and four champions." He set the goblet down and rubbed his face, stifling a yawn.
"I should let you rest," said Oslave, leaning forward to stand. But Will stopped him with a wave.
"Wait. When is your next fight?"
The Skandian's bushy eyebrows came together. "Tonight. Why?"
Will was silent for several moments, but then he said, "I can get you out of here."
Oslave kept the expression. "Aye? How d'you figure?"
"I haven't figured that out yet. But I should have some kind of plan within the next few hours."
"Will that plan include getting out of here yourself?"
The Ranger gazed at him.
"I know what you said last time," Oslave continued. "But you're no good to anyone dead. You want to ruin the Aetius' game? Stop playing."
Will sighed. "I can't. I can't just..."
"What can you do alone? We need allies. If we can get out, we can send word to your king and Oberjarl Erak. They'll send armies."
"It's not that simple!" Will barked, then lowered his eyes and shook his head, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "We may be at peace with Toscana but that doesn't warrant bringing thousands of troops into the empire. Even a handful of soldiers could be viewed as a threat. No, something like this would have to be handled delicately. Couriers, ambassadors, diplomats – those without swords or armour."
Oslave grunted. "The long way, then."
"That's the problem exactly. By the time word gets north, whether by hand or pigeon, the Games will be over, and all evidence could be erased. And if the Aetius intends on buying or overthrowing the Senate, we would be facing war."
"I don't think I know where you're going with this," said Oslave. "You say we need your fancy Couriers to settle this matter, and then you say it would be too late to settle by the time they get here."
"I'm simply putting everything on the table," Will explained. "It helps me think, sometimes."
"Toscana's leaders need to know of this – that seems to be the bottom line."
"Uh huh. But even getting word to them might be tricky. This isn't a mere fight club beneath some rundown slum of an isolated town. Deals and double-deals would have blinded the right people. Those will take more than a hoe and plough to uproot."
"You're doing that metaphor thing again."
Will felt a smile tug at his lips. He sat back in his seat, gazing out the latticework overlooking the Arena and stroking his jaw. Stubble nipped at his finger.
"How many people can sit down there, I wonder?"
Oslave frowned at him. "Thousands. If they squish together like corn on the cob."
"It would take a lot to feed and water them all."
"Aye."
"To keep them happy, food would have to be fresh. Not smoked to death or fished out of a barrel. And the water would have to be plentiful – they can't drink wine and beer all the time and they need to keep clean and cool somehow."
Oslave shrugged. "I've seen the caravans. They come all the time from the surrounding lands."
"The nearest river is a few miles away. There must be a more efficient way they're getting their water."
Oslave watched him stroke his chin for a while, growing ever more restless. How was this supposed to help them escape this madness?
"What makes a good fortress?" Will suddenly asked. Oslave shrugged again.
"Strong walls."
"Yes, and what else?"
"Strategically placed."
"Yes, and what else?"
Oslave scowled. "There are no Rangers in it."
Will rolled his eyes. "It's self-sufficient. It can hold its own without requiring outside supplies."
"I know what self-sufficient means!"
"And does this 'fortress' seem self-sufficient to you?"
Oslave shrugged once more, but wished he hadn't. It was a silly gesture for large men like himself. "Judging by the supply caravans, no. But then, the mountain isn't under siege."
Will nodded as though in approval, and Oslave couldn't help but feel he was being schooled. He felt uncomfortable with it and crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair, making it creak ominously.
"If they aren't bringing in a regular supply of water, maybe it's already here," he growled.
Will nodded again. "And if not stored in hundreds of barrels, then from...?"
"...Groundwater."
"Right on the nose." Will sprang to his feet and began to pace. "The water would have to leave somewhere – they can't collect it all."
"It might go back underground," said Oslave, no less sceptical than he was before. Hope could be dangerous. "You'd drown before you followed it all the way out."
"No sense wallowing in pessimism before finding out if that was the case, now, is there?" Will gave him another tight smile before striding for the door. "Well? Are you coming?"
Oslave let out a full breath, then stood and followed.
*shrinks away* I know, I know, nothing exciting happened. I'm kind of...stalling... :/ I'm afraid of writing myself into a corner.
