Chapter 43 Try Diplomacy First #2
“Ladies.” I let my patience fray, allowing a bit of dominion magic to enter my voice. “This is not a debate. King Auremar wants your blood for a ritual that will, and I cannot stress this enough, end very badly for everyone involved.”
They did that creepy synchronized head tilt again.
“Our blood?”
“For what purpose?”
“Nothing good.” The mother was still here, frozen in terror. No point in elaborating while she listened, even if I had been inclined to answer questions. “Suffice to say, you’re safer with me than here.”
“We can’t just abandon our patients—”
The door burst open. Three city guards rushed in, swords drawn. “We had reports of—”
I didn’t let them finish. Shadow tendrils erupted from the floor, wrapping around their throats. They had just enough time to look surprised before I tightened my grip.
“Honestly,” I said conversationally as the guards dropped, “doesn’t anyone knock anymore?”
The mother screamed. The twins stared. The boy with dragon pox whimpered.
“Right.” I turned back to the twins, who were now backing toward the rear exit. “Let’s skip the negotiations.”
The sleep spell took them both simultaneously. They crumpled in perfect unison. Still creepy.
“The mother?” Thorne asked, already bagging the twins with admirable efficiency.
I considered the terrified woman. “She didn’t see my face clearly. Leave her.” I placed a small bag of gold on the counter. “For your silence and your son’s treatment. If anyone asks, bandits took the healers.”
She nodded frantically, clutching her son.
By the time we’d collected our sixth target—a baker who made “exceptional” croissants and happened to have heroic blood—I was beginning to feel like a demented fairy-tale villain. There was something particularly absurd about kidnapping people for their own good.
“This is taking too long,” Thorne observed, dumping the unconscious baker next to the others. Our collection point was starting to look like the world’s most eclectic morgue. “At this rate, we’ll be here all week.”
“Agreed.” I consulted the list again. Two dozen names in Kheldvar alone, and we’d barely made a dent. Plus, I’d already killed—I did a quick count—thirteen guards. “We need a more efficient method.”
“Mass sleeping spell?”
“Too broad. We’d knock out half the district and someone would definitely notice.” I paused, an idea forming. “But what if we lured them somewhere first?”
Thorne’s expression grew calculating. “What did you have in mind?”
Twenty minutes later, we’d set up in Kheldvar’s town square. Thorne had procured a small platform from somewhere—I didn’t ask where—and I’d conjured enough banners to make it look official. The message was simple: Free Heroic Bloodline Testing. Generous Compensation for Qualified Individuals.
“This is ridiculous,” Thorne muttered, watching people pass. “No one’s going to believe—”
“Sir?” A young woman approached, clutching a worn shawl. “Is it true? You’re paying for heroic bloodline verification?”
I kept my hood low and put on my most trustworthy smile. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very trustworthy. “Indeed. The political situation has made such bloodlines valuable. I’m offering protected employment to those who qualify.”
“Employment?” An older man pushed forward. “What kind of employment?”
“Protected positions within my organization.” It wasn’t technically a lie. They would be protected. From everything. Including freedom of movement. “The testing is simple and painless.”
More people gathered. Word spread quickly in a small city like Kheldvar. Within an hour, we had a crowd of nearly one hundred fifty hopefuls, all eager to discover if they had magical heritage worth monetizing.
Of course, that’s when the city watch decided to investigate.
“What’s all this, then?” A guard captain pushed through the crowd, flanked by six men. “No one cleared this gathering with—” He squinted at us suspiciously. “Let’s see some identification.”
“Of course,” I said smoothly, keeping my face carefully angled away. “My associate has our permits.”
Thorne, bless him, actually started patting his pockets as if searching for documents we definitely didn’t have.
“Actually,” I said, “I just remembered. We don’t have any.”
Both guards stepped closer, hands moving to their swords. The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’ll need to come with—”
“Just a moment, sir!” One of the guards—a thin, nervous-looking fellow—pulled out a thick leather-bound tome from his belt pouch.
He frantically flipped through pages. “There must be regulations for this. Unlicensed merchants—no, that’s a fine.
Operating without permits… ah! Here we go—‘Procedures for Undocumented Individuals Conducting Public Business.’ Let’s see…
subsection twelve, paragraph four…” He looked up triumphantly.
“You’re entitled to a three-day grace period to obtain proper documentation! ”
“A grace period,” I repeated flatly.
“Yes! You just need to fill out form 23-A for temporary merchant status.” He was still reading. “In triplicate. During normal business hours. Which are… oh dear, the office closed an hour ago.”
The guard captain groaned. “Jenkins, they’re clearly suspicious—”
“But sir, regulations clearly state—”
I unleashed a wave of shadow spears. The guards dropped like wheat before a scythe, Jenkins still clutching his book of regulations as he fell. The crowd screamed, some fleeing, others frozen in shock.
“NOBODY MOVE!” I amplified my voice with magic, adding just enough dominion power to make compliance seem like an excellent idea. “I am here to offer legitimate employment opportunities. The guards were simply overcome with enthusiasm.”
“They’re dead!” someone shrieked.
“Yes, well, they were very enthusiastic.” I gestured, and the bodies dissolved like the others. “Now then, shall we proceed with the testing? I assure you, it’s perfectly safe for those who qualify.”
Amazingly, about two-thirds of the crowd stayed. People would overlook anything—even fresh corpses—if you convinced them they were chosen.
“What’s the test?” someone called out.
I produced a vial of what looked like ordinary water but was actually a diluted solution infused with my own blood. Arabella’s heroic bloodline had reacted violently to my essence during our early experiments. Diluted enough, it would only cause a mild warming sensation in those with the bloodline.
“A single drop on your wrist,” I announced. “If you have heroic heritage, you’ll feel warmth spreading up your arm.”
They lined up with varying degrees of reluctance. Most felt nothing—disappointed civilians who shuffled away muttering about charlatans. But every seventh or eighth person gasped as the solution reacted to their blood.
“Congratulations,” I told each successful candidate. “Please stand to the side. We’ll discuss terms once everyone’s been tested.”
Thorne kept a careful count. By the time the crowd thinned, we had fifteen confirmed bloodlines of varying potency. Not all were on Vex’s list—Sebastian’s theory about distant lineages had been more accurate than expected.
“Now then,” I addressed our gathered heroes, noting how they preened. “If you’ll all gather close, we can discuss your new positions.”
They crowded in, eager and unsuspecting.
The mass sleep spell took them all at once. Bodies crumpled. A few remaining bystanders screamed, but I was already opening the portal.
“Efficient,” Thorne commented, beginning to drag bodies through. I levitated five at once. “Morally questionable, but efficient.”
“Story of my life.” I paused, hearing more guards approaching. “How many city guards do you think that is now? Twenty?”
“Twenty-three, my lord.”
“Excellent. Let’s see if we can make it an even thirty before we leave.” I cracked my knuckles, shadows already gathering. “After all, Kheldvar’s guard could use some downsizing. I’m practically doing them a favor, weeding out the ones too slow to run from a Dark Lord.”
The guards rounded the corner, saw me standing amid unconscious bodies, and actually had the audacity to charge.
“Points for bravery,” I admitted, right before the shadows took them. “Negative points for intelligence.”
Dozens of guards dead, and the voice that usually screamed for more carnage when Arabella witnessed my violence was barely a murmur.
Distance from her made everything clearer—my thoughts, my control, even my shadows moved with less resistance.
I filed that observation away, disturbed by its implications.
As we hauled the last of our kidnapped heroes through the portal, I couldn’t help but reflect on the absurdity of it all. Here I was, the Terror of the Western Realms, reduced to running a recruitment fair and playing hide-and-seek with city guards.
“Next time,” I told Thorne as we prepared to return for another batch, “we’re just conquering the kingdom first. This heroic restraint is exhausting.”
“Sounds good, my lord.”
“And Thorne? Remind me to send Kheldvar a donation for their guards’ widow fund.”
“The one you just created?”
“The very same.”
The last hero of the day—a silversmith who crafted blessed jewelry and apparently descended from some obscure saint—went through the portal without much fuss. Unconscious people were remarkably compliant.
“That’s the last on the list for today,” Thorne said, hefting the man through the swirling darkness. “Shall we return to Skyspire, my lord?”
The alley was particularly narrow, wedged between a tannery and an apothecary. The competing scents of leather and medicinal herbs made my nose burn. I held out my hand, and Thorne handed me the list.
I scanned it, pausing on a name halfway down. I glanced through the portal, where our unconscious recruits waited in their magically induced slumber, and then closed it. “They’re not going anywhere. There’s one more we should investigate tonight.”