The Merchant’s War

"Oh, most of them. Details are still emerging. But beside the death of his majesty's father and his majesty's younger brother-" Otto started at that point. "-it appears that his majesty is the only surviving heir for the time being." Niejwein nodded to himself. "The queen mother is missing. Of the tinkers, the heads of three of their families were present, some eighteen nobles in total, including the bitch they planned to whelp by the Idiot-" Otto startled again, then contained himself. "-and sixty sundry gentles of other houses. The tinkers not being without allies."

"But the main company of those families are untouched," Innsford stated.

"For the time being." Niejwein's cheek twitched. Has he the palsy? Otto wondered. "As I said, his majesty-" Niejwein stopped and rose to his feet, turning to face one of the side panels. A moment later he dropped to one knee: Otto scrambled to follow suit.

"Rise, gentlemen." Otto allowed himself to look up at his new monarch. The Pervert- no, forget you ever heard that name, on pain of your neck, he told himself-was every inch a prince: tall, hale of limb, fair of face, with a regal bearing and a knowing gleam in 'his eye. Otto, Baron Neuhalle, had known Egon since he was barely crawling. And he was absolutely terrified of him.

"Sire." Innsford looked suitably grave. "I came as soon as I heard the news, to pledge myself to you anew and offer whatever aid you desire in your time of need." Not grief, Otto noted.

Prince Egon-no, King Egon-smiled. "We appreciate the thought, and we thank your grace for your thoughtfulness. Your inclination to avoid any little misunderstandings is most creditable."

"Sire." Innsford nodded, suppressing any sign of unease.

Egon turned to Niejwein. "Is there any word of that jumped-up horse thief Lofstrom?" he asked offhandedly. Neuhalle kept his face still: to talk of Angbard, Duke Lofstrom, so crudely meant that the wind was blowing in exactly the direction Innsford had predicted. But then, it wasn't hard to guess that the new monarch-who had haled his grandmother and never seen eye-to-eye with his father-would react viciously towards the single biggest threat to his authority over the kingdom.

"No word as yet, sire." Niejwein paused. "I have sent out couriers," he added. "As soon as he is located he will be invited to present an explanation to you."

"And of my somewhat-absent chief of intelligence?"

"Nor him, sire. He was leading the party of the tinkers at the past evening's reception, though. I believe he may still be around here."

"Find proof of his death." Egon's tone was uncompromising. "Bring it to me, or bring him. And the same for the rest of the upstarts. I want them all rounded up and brought to the capital."

"Sire. If they resist...?"

Egon glanced at Innsford. "Let us speak bluntly. The tinker vermin are as rich a target as they are a tough one, but they are not invulnerable and I will cut them down to size. Through magic and conspiracy, and by taking advantage of the good will of my forefathers, they've grown like a canker in my father's kingdom. But I intend to put a stop to them. One tenth of theirs, your grace, will be yours if you serve me well. Another tenth for our good servant Niejwein here. The rest to be apportioned appropriately, between the Crown and its honest servants. Who will of course want to summon their families to attend the forthcoming coronation, and to take advantage of the security provided for them by the Royal Life Guards in this time of crisis."

Neuhalle shrank inwardly, aghast. He wants hostages of us? He found himself nodding involuntarily. To do aught else would be to brand himself as a rebel, and it seemed that Egon had no intention of being the bluntest scythe in the royal barn: but to start a reign with such an unambiguous display of mistrust boded ill for the future.

"We are your obedient servants," Innsford assured him.

"Good!" Egon smiled broadly. "I look forward to seeing your lady wife in the next week or two, before the campaign begins."

"Campaign-" Neuhalle bit his tongue, but the prince's eyes had already turned to him. And the prince was smiling prettily, as if all the fires of Hel didn't burn in the imagination concealed by that golden boy's face.

"Why, certainly there shall be a campaign," Egon assured him, beaming widely. "There will be no room for sedition in our reign! We shall raise the nobility to its traditional status again, reasserting those values that have run thin in the blood of recent years." He winked. "And to rid the kingdom of the proliferation of witches that have corrupted it is but one part of that program." He gestured idly at the wooden framework taking place on the lawn outside the pavilion. "It'll make for a good show at the coronation, eh?"