CH399 · Rewrite
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Chapter 399: Contact

In the palace basement of King’s City, Kingdom of Graycastle, Timothy Wimbledon sat on his throne with his cheek resting in one hand and watched the latest candidate demonstrate his knife technique.

How many of these idiots have I endured since winter started?

He had been too lenient, clearly. Word had gotten out that the king would receive anyone with a credible plan, and now the fools came in daily, each one more ambitious and less competent than the last.

He sneezed. The torchlight was making his eyes dry.

The Hall of Sky Dome was still under reconstruction after the snow powder had brought down its ceiling, so council meetings had been moved to the renovated basement chambers. Several storage rooms had been opened up; the total space was sufficient, the entrance was singular, and the entire weight of the palace sat directly above as a roof no explosion could penetrate. It was as secure a location as existed in King’s City. The disadvantages were the absence of natural light, the turpentine torches—which turned the air hot and sweet and faintly nauseating—and the fact that Timothy was forced to conduct the business of a kingdom in what had been, until recently, a root cellar.

Every time he thought about Roland, the resentment sharpened into something almost physical.

The candidate was demonstrating again. Four throwing knives, twenty paces, a barrel. All four hit the center of the target with a crack-crack-crack-crack rhythm that suggested long practice.

“My lord.” The man faced him with evident satisfaction. “If that traitor Roland ever appears before me, I guarantee the outcome.”

“What guarantees do you offer,” Timothy asked, “that I’ll see the twenty-five royals again after I’ve paid them?”

The candidate’s face fell. “Your Highness, I assure you—”

“Knight Weimar.” Timothy beckoned without inflection.

The Steelheart Knight stepped in from the corridor, shield on arm, saber at his side. He removed his helmet and approached the candidate with the deliberate ease of a man who has done this before.

“Wait—Your Highness, this isn’t—” The candidate broke away from the first slash, flipped his body, got his balance back, flung a knife. It struck the shield with a flat sound and dropped. Another slash. The candidate stumbled sideways, hit the floor, tried to rise—a vicious kick doubled him over, and then the saber came down at an angle and took half of his right forearm.

The blood made a wide curved line across the stone.

My hand—

“Firstly,” Timothy said, “members of the royal family are not your typical targets. Even my foolish brother won’t walk willingly into a crowd. Secondly, if you can’t defend yourself against a single knight, you have no business inside thirty feet of a lord protected by many.” He gestured. “Remove him.”

He watched them drag the man out and felt, not for the first time, the dull exhaustion of this entire enterprise. A month or two ago he wouldn’t have entertained common-born assassins at all. He had started by giving small sums to anyone who showed genuine skill—and Roland was still alive, still sending snow powder from the sky, still entrenched in the Western Region as comfortably as if the civil war had never touched him. News of Timothy’s apparent tolerance had spread quickly, and now the applicants arrived daily with increasingly absurd proposals. A tavern maid, one man had suggested. A tavern maid, as if Roland hadn’t spent the past two years surrounded by witches and hadn’t learned, presumably, to distinguish them from ordinary women.

Maybe it was a mistake to look in the citizenry at all.

The only things that could reach Roland were pills and snow powder of his own.

He surveyed the hall. Empty of outsiders now. “Prime Minister. The snow powder weapon development—where does it stand?”

Intelligence gathered from Longsong Stronghold over the past year had confirmed the general shape of the weapon: a semi-enclosed iron pipe, powder loaded at the breach, force directed forward to propel a lead ball. Crude on its face, but the results spoke for themselves—Border Town’s miners had broken the Duke’s knights with it, repeatedly and decisively. Timothy had pulled every experienced smith in King’s City and set them to reproduction immediately.

“Not well, Your Highness.” Marquis Wyke’s expression was professionally neutral. “We’ve produced ten or so prototypes according to our intelligence. None approach the claimed firepower. A few can penetrate a knight’s breastplate at close range—ten steps at best—and accuracy at fifty steps is essentially theoretical.”

“Might as well walk up and stab them,” Timothy said flatly.

“Yes, Your Highness. And even at that production rate, gathering every blacksmith and apprentice in the city generates perhaps twenty weapons per month, with no guarantee of function. There have been four burst pipes in training. The guardsmen are not enthusiastic about holding them.”

Timothy let the frustration settle rather than speak it. Border Town was a fraction of King’s City’s size and resource base, and Roland had reportedly deployed hundreds of these weapons in a single winter. The only explanations were witches or an advantage of technique he couldn’t replicate from secondhand intelligence. Neither answer was satisfying.

“The pills,” he said. “Has the Church replied?”

“The High Priest sends his regrets, Your Highness. The Holy City is occupied with its own demonic beast crisis during the Months of Demons and cannot spare supplies at this time. He asks that we wait until spring.”

I don’t intend to wait until spring. He would write to Hermes himself—a personal letter, unambiguous in its terms. The Church wanted continued access to Graycastle for recruitment and congregation. That access now had a price.

He was preparing to close the session when the Minister for Diplomacy materialized at his elbow with the expression of a man who has held back news through poor timing and now fears the moment has passed.

“Your Highness. Messengers from the Kingdom of Dawn arrived in King’s City today. They’re requesting an audience.”

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