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It didn’t take long for the stench of carnage to waft up to the balcony, but Amaury was still too enthralled by what had just happened to pay it any notice. What he had just done. Ysabeau came out from the palace and joined him on the balcony.

“Gods alive,” she said, her eyes wide as saucers. “What happened.”

“I … I’m not su—” Amaury said before stopping himself. “I did it. Magic. My magic.” He held up his hands and looked at them. He had unleashed tremendous power, yet had felt no adverse effect. He hadn’t burned himself out, the expected consequence of using too much energy. In fact, he’d barely even noticed he had done it. He felt no different. No fatigue, no dizziness. Nothing. What a fool he’d been. This power had been his for days, and he’d been too afraid to use it.

“Why?” Ysabeau said.

She went to the balustrade and looked down. Amaury paid her little attention. He was still trying to absorb the fact that the power that had worried him for so long was his to use as he saw fit. If he could unleash such devastation with no noticeable personal consequences, then the things he needed to do on a day-to-day basis would be no problem at all. There would be no more disagreements, no more need for bodyguards, no fear of moving about the city. He had everything he needed. Everything he wanted.

“Father,” Ysabeau said, “why? How could you? All those people. There must be hundreds lying there. Thousands, maybe.”

“They brought it on themselves,” Amaury said. “If they’d just accepted that the world around them is changing, there’d have been no problem. Some good might even come of it—the rest of them might have learned their lesson.

“But none of that matters. Don’t you see? The power I have now, it’s incredible. I’m untouchable.”

“Don’t you care?” Ysabeau said. “All those people. You’re Lord Protector of the Realm. That means you’re supposed to protect them.

“Don’t be so naive,” Amaury said, disappointed. He expected more from his own child.

“I can’t believe this is what you had planned,” she said. “It’s barbarous.”

Though Amaury kept his face impassive, to himself he had to admit that she had finally hit a sensitive spot. He hadn’t planned what had happened. Far from it. This was a glaring demonstration that he had absolutely no control over this power. A shiver ran over his skin.

“I can’t believe I’m the one who brought you the means to do this,” she said.

“Statecraft can be a messy business,” he said. “Ruling can require hard choices and harder acts.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that before,” she said. “I didn’t believe it then and I don’t believe it now.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen terrible things. I’ve done terrible things. But I can’t be party to this.”

She walked away, leaving Amaury alone on the balcony. As he watched her go, he realised that the magic had done his bidding. The people had, indeed, been silenced. He merely needed to develop better control over his desires, just as dal Drezony had always maintained. Perhaps she had been right about some things, after all.

He looked down at the square below. Most of the crowd was gone, having fled the horror. A great red stain streaked across the square, which was littered with bodies. The magic had not killed everyone it had touched, he saw. At the fringes of the bloodied path his magic had taken, there were wounded. Even from this distance, he could see that many were horribly injured. Some people were helping those who were hurt, while others wandered around checking the bodies. He wondered if anyone had started looting the corpses yet. It was only a matter of time before that started, and part of the reason he found it so hard to muster any sympathy for the fate of ordinary citizens. They cared about one another even less than he did. Once the shock had passed, all they would see was the chance to find a coin or two.

A child wandered amongst the dead, slipping every so often on the blood and viscera. She stopped beside one body, then reached down and shook it. She tried several times to rouse the person, but there was no response. At last, she stood up and stared straight at Amaury on the balcony. He had never seen so much hate in such a young face. For the first time it occurred to him that this act might not have a pacifying effect.

He turned and went back inside. If there was going to be trouble, he needed to be prepared for it. The new mercenaries should be no more than a day or two from the city; their arrival would be a weight off his mind. Desertions from the palace guard, the royal regiments, and the City Watch had been heavy—not that he felt he could trust them anyway. The Order’s new recruits would have to serve as a stopgap; his hopes of keeping them away from the dirtier side of maintaining the peace were well and truly gone.

“Your Grace,” a clerk said, as soon as Amaury went back inside. “We’ve had word from the king’s camp. He has defeated his cousins and is preparing to march.”

Amaury had expected as much. The king’s cousins were even bigger idiots than Boudain was. “Where to?”

“The message didn’t say.”

“Keep me updated.”

For the first time, he regretted siting the Priory so far away, in that old monastery on the left bank of the Vosges. Originally he had placed the Order there to keep them away from the palace’s meddling, but now it was an inconvenience. He needed them close now, but for the time being, there was little he could do about that.

Reaching his office, Amaury sent for the officers of the Order. He had to start preparing his cream-robed magisters for the war that was on its way.

PART THREE

CHAPTER 42

Gill spotted the mercenaries the next morning. It was as big a company as he’d ever seen. At a very rough estimate, there must have been ten thousand men, including the baggage train. He doubted it was a single company—more like an amalgam of several smaller ones. That meant there was going to be more than one leader, a command council of some sort, with absolute command awarded to an elected member only in times of action. It would make dealing with them more arduous, but delaying this force was almost as useful as getting them to turn around. Perhaps that should be the true focus of his offer?

A mercenary company on the march was always dangerous to approach. The reputations all such companies bore for looting, pillaging, and murder were well earned, even though some companies behaved far better than others.

He’d dealt with mercenaries a number of times during his career, fighting both with and against them. He had no strong opinions on them one way or the other. They were very much like any other segment of the world—there were some good ones, some bad ones, and plenty in between. He was pretty sure that in a force of this size, he’d find some of all. It didn’t matter if the commanders were good men or not. They only needed to prize the value of a coin, or the thousands of them the king was offering if they turned around.

Gill stopped by a stand of trees and cut down a slender branch, which he used, in conjunction with a piece of cloth torn from his sleeve, to fashion a flag of truce. He was less likely to be targeted by overeager scouts if he looked like he was on official business.

With his new banner flying haphazardly above him, Gill continued toward the mercenary column. They had some outriders, but Gill hadn’t encountered any advance scouts. Either they were very stealthy or the company’s commanders were confident that no one would challenge so large a force. This behaviour wasn’t unheard of, but it was arrogant and foolish—Gill knew of more than one force that had been attacked on the march. He wondered what was making them so confident, but answering that question could wait.