Fernan V: The Ratcatcher

  “This isn’t the end,” Fernan insisted, in all honesty trying to convince himself as much as his councilors. “The powers of the First Spear don’t specifically delineate it, but a pardon is well within the normal duties of a head of state. There’s ample precedent to draw on. If I step in to block the ruling—”

  “Then you’ll kill your political credibility for a generation,” Michel interrupted, looking pained to do so. “Fernan, this is your decision, but if you obstruct the peoples’ justice against Valvert, they’ll hate you for it. You might lose your seat; it’s hard to imagine you staying First Speaker, at minimum.”

  “Do it if you feel you must, but don’t be blind to what you’d be giving up,” his mom added, squeezing Michel’s hand. “Guy Valvert is guilty, even if you believe that no crime warrants death. A pardon implies innocence—for you, it implies complicity. It looks bad enough that you were singing Gabriel’s praises so loudly before his treachery came to light.”

  “Who cares what it implies? I’m not going to stand by while we kill a man! The Duchy, the Empire, they all purport themselves to be the arbiter of life and death, but the Commune is supposed to be better than that. A just government, of and for all the people of Guerron. This isn’t something we can come back from.” Fernan took a deep breath, facing the advisors he’d gathered with a stone face. “If my own reputation is what it takes to stop the Commune from embarking on a path from which it can never return, so be it. Michel, look for any case law to help justify the pardon privilege, Imperial or Avaline. Mom, I think it’s probably best if you condemn the decision—provided that’s how you really feel. No use in both of us falling for the likes of Guy Valvert. And—”

  “Monsieur First Speaker,” a messenger named Céline interrupted. One of many workers incorporated into Paul Armand’s anti-corruption arm of the CSP, she charged into the room without bothering to wait for an invitation. “I apologize for the interruption, but I bring you urgent news.”

  “What is it?” Fernan asked, no longer worried about his prior chain of thoughts. “A message from Paul?”

  “I’m afraid it’s more serious, M. First Speaker. It’s the prisoners, Guy and Valentine Valvert.”

  What now? Did Guy make a deal with Magnifico to blot out the sun, or send a letter to Glaciel inviting her to freeze over Guerron? For a man so selfishly devoted to his own well-being above all else, Guy Valvert seemed positively determined to get himself killed.

  “They’re missing,” Céline finished, prompting an eruption of shock from around the room. “The stone in both their cells was disturbed, seemingly shaped and pushed aside to tunnel them out. Citoyen Armand suspects that Valentine Valvert concealed her strength, then broke into Guy’s cell to retrieve him before they both escaped.”

  Somehow, even worse than I feared. As much as Fernan never wished to discount the possibility of success, that single act made it nearly impossible to imagine an outcome where Valvert lived, even if he could be retrieved. And if he makes his escape successfully, nothing is stopping him from leading an assault on the Commune.

  It couldn’t be allowed to happen.

  Fernan barely spared a word as he exited the room, flying immediately to the tower where Valentine Valvert was held, still ostensibly recovering from her injuries.

  But the chamber was empty, just as Céline had said. The stone was cracked, dust still hanging in the air, leaving no ambiguity as to how Valentine had escaped. All that remained was a single fleur de lune, the same moon flowers that grew in such large numbers around the outside of the stone. A taunting message too, as if this wasn’t bad enough. The slightest glint of moonlight highlighted it in Fernan’s eyes, the same sort of subtle distinction he’d worked so hard to be able to notice.

  It would have been bad enough to lose Valentine alone, but she’d stopped to rescue her husband, despite the appearance of no love lost between them. She appeared weak and frail too, drained of all spiritual power. And all of us fell for the ruse. Even Paul hadn’t caught on, though his attention had been pulled to weeding out corrupt guards and investigating the Miroirdeau Affair.

  They could have gone anywhere, tunneling miles underground until Guerron was but a distant memory. All of that took energy, and Valentine had a limited supply, but apparently it was far less limited than they’d planned for.

  And if they reach a sympathetic ally, all of the Commune will pay the price. Condillac was a likely destination given Guy’s prior overtures, and Dorseille had once been Guy’s seat of power, but considering the defiant letter Cédric Bougitte had sent to Aubaine, the smarter assumption was that they’d make for Torpierre.

  “No one can know of this,” Fernan insisted as soon as he returned, closing the door behind him. “It’s not too late to catch up with them and return them to our custody.”

  “Where you’ll pardon them?” Michel asked hesitantly. “This will only make it look worse.”

  I can’t even make that decision until we get them back. There’s time yet to choose. “It’s only natural to want to escape confinement, guilty or innocent. Unless they committed any extra crimes while escaping, I don’t see any reason to pile on to their charges. Michel, if you—”

  Fernan cut himself as he saw the door open again, Félix poking his head inside hesitantly. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, Fernan, but...” He swallowed, keeping himself halfway out the door. “Do you remember the airship project from the Duchy government? It was all for Valvert’s vanity, using the plans Fouchand Debray bought from Robin Verrou.”

  “Of course.” I remember Guy browbeating you in front of everyone because the resources simply weren’t available to make it practical. If not for that, you might not have joined the Montaignards in time for the revolution. “You had a prototype working but with no practical source of fuel to make it actually useful...” Fernan trailed off, dread building as he realized where this was going. “And the Valverts stole it to make their escape.”

  “The Valverts escaped?” Félix shrank back even further, eyes widening. “Then it must have been them, though I have no idea how they got it running. It’s been sitting in a hanger for the better part of four years. I only found out it was gone because Antoine noticed it while burning the midnight oil.”

  “They’ll be halfway to Dorseille by now,” Mom said glumly. “Or Condillac, or Torpierre. And we don’t have anything that could catch them before it’s too late, even if we did know which direction they’re headed in.”

  “Aside from me.” Fernan stepped forward, beckoning Félix into the room so he could close the door once more. “This may actually be good news. If they needed to steal an airship, Valentine Valvert couldn’t have too much magic remaining. After scraping and concealing it from us for years, recovering from her injuries, breaking out of their cells might have cost her everything she had.”

  “Good news, if we can find them.” Michel didn’t look terribly optimistic. “Does this ship leave any kind of trail, Félix?”

  “It’s a dirigeable filled with dephlogisticated air, rather than heated. Wind handles most of the propulsion, with just a small motor and rudders. Fernan, I don’t know exactly how your vision works, but there won’t be a trail of warm air lingering in the air for hours. Minutes at most, maybe.”

  “So I have to decide now: North or South. Choose wrong, and they’ll get away.” And I’ll forever be the First Speaker that let it happen. Intentional or unintentional, it was a terrible look, only exacerbating the hole he’d dug for himself with Gabriel. But they would live. The Commune’s hands would remain unbloodied.

  For about twenty minutes. Fernan had no illusions that the Assembly’s attitude towards capital punishment would improve as a result of the escape. Armand would almost certainly push for it on all of the guards that hadn’t been tried yet, and perhaps the remaining aristocrats.

  That may come to pass even if I can find them, but it’s my only chance to keep some influence in the process. If any way remained at all to save the Commune from falling prey to the fate of Condorcet, it would require recapturing the Valverts before anyone else found out.

  “Félix, you said Antoine told you about the missing airship. Does anyone else know?”

  “I don’t think so. He came straight to me, and it’s the middle of the night. I doubt he stopped to tell anyone else.”

  “Summon him and find out for sure. Michel, make sure all the guards who discovered them missing stay here too. No one leaves this room until they’re retrieved.”

  Mom frowned. “Fernan, you just can’t go out there by yourself. If Valentine Valvert had enough power to escape, she probably has enough to put you in serious danger, let alone the possibility that they have allies to shelter with. You can’t—”

  “I have to.” There’s no one else. “I’m going North. Guy’s vain enough to think Dorseille will rise for him, and he might even be right. It’s more defensible, and doesn’t depend on any foreign collaborators. He’ll know a spot there to hide out, at the very minimum. I want all you weighing options for once they’re returned. We’ll need to hit the ground running.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Mom opened her mouth as if to start speaking, then closed it without a word.

  “Of course,” said Michel. “Good hunting.”

  “Stay safe,” Mom added.

  Fernan flew out the window without sparing another moment, flying low enough to reduce any risk of someone spotting him.

  Gézarde’s power had only continued to swell with the offerings Camille had committed to from Malin, so Fernan had no issues drawing on enough power to fly as far as Dorseille.

  Or Torpierre, Fernan thought as he turned south. Apologies for the misdirection, but anything to reduce the chance of accurate information leaking out is worth doing.

  Fernan had seen the airship on its test flight, a brief circle around the city that alone had exhausted about a third of Guerron’s fuel, and there weren’t many gaps in the mountains low enough for it to fly through at its usual height. They might not have bothered. If Guy’s flying it himself, he certainly doesn’t have the expertise to navigate by the stars. That would mean following the Gold Road down the coast, a different enough direction from flying directly that Fernan couldn’t cover both routes at once.

  Another guess, but I’m out of time for anything else. Fernan soared over the mountains, trying to think like an airship pilot desperately trying to find Torpierre, and continued blindly for an agonizing stretch that felt like hours. If he didn’t have any luck, he had every intention of following the Gold Road back, and even continuing north to Dorseille if necessary, but every hour that passed only decreased the chance that the Valverts could be recovered, let alone recovered before word got out.

  The sun began to rise just in time, illuminating a wooden wreck crashed into the hillside.

  Fernan felt a warm relief spread through him as he landed next to it, now certain he’d chosen the right direction. But I haven’t found them yet. For a moment, he feared that they’d perished in the crash, but there wasn’t any trace of a warm body anywhere, which meant that the escapees had survived the crash and walked away.

  It means they can’t be far.

  Fernan flew a few feet above the ground in progressively wider circles, searching for any trace of the Valverts. If they’d touched something long enough, recently enough, there was a chance he could see the lingering warmth and track them. Even if not, they would be on foot, possibly injured from the crash, while Fernan had the skies at his disposal. It was only a matter of time now.

  But that doesn't mean they’ll return without a fight. Valentine Valvert bested me the last time we fought—if not for an opportune shot at just the right moment, I might not have survived the day. She ought to have less energy at her disposal now, but we’ve already been wrong about that once, to disastrous results.

  Conserving his own energy, Fernan landed a few steps away from a small mountain cottage just barely within sight of the airship wreck, not all that different from the sort of slanted-roof houses found back in Villechart. If they’re smart, they’ll avoid talking to anyone who might possibly recognize them, but it’s possible they’re too injured to go any further without help. It was also possible that Guy Valvert assumed any random person would shelter him out of loyalty to the aristocracy, in which case he was in for a rude awakening.

  “Fuck off!” an old woman’s voice yelled through the door as soon as Fernan knocked.

  Another good sign. “I won’t be long, Madame. I’m just looking for a couple people, a man and woman in their thirties who were on that airship when it crashed. I’m trying to get them back safely. Did you see anyone like that?”

  Because I have a feeling you might have.

  The woman didn’t answer, so Fernan tried knocking again. “Would you mind letting me in? I’d rather not have this conversation through a door.” He could force his way in if he had to, but that seemed wildly extreme given the circumstances.

  To Fernan’s surprise, the door creaked open, revealing a hunched figure with a faded aura. In the single room of the cottage, it was plain to see that no one else was here with them. “Tell your lies and be on your way,” the woman said, collapsing into a chair.

  “I haven’t told you any lies,” Fernan said. “Though perhaps I was not clear enough about the truth. The people I seek are fugitives named Guy and Valentine Valvert, escaped from just imprisonment for their crimes.”

  “Crimes!” The woman scoffed. “Count Valvert is a confidant of Duke Fouchand, and kin to him.”

  Is? News must take a long time to get here, but that still seems extreme. “Duke Fouchand is dead, Madame. The King of Avalon threw him off a balcony.”

  “Ha! I’m sure. And Soleil right alongside him, right?”

  “Well, yes, King Harold was also involved in Soleil’s death, though there wasn’t any balcony to—”

  “Stop it, boy. I see the flames in your eyes; I know you’ve been touched by the spirits. Doesn’t mean I have anything to fear. If you want to kill me, little lord, go ahead. I don’t have much time left anyway.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you at all! I won’t, whether or not you’re sheltering them.” Which I strongly suspect you are. “And I’m no lord. I’m from Villechart.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  Not exactly a surprise. “It’s a coal mining town—I grew up in a house just like this one. I led the people there west to safety once we couldn’t mine anymore, just in time considering the Summer of Darkness. When an ice spirit attacked Guerron, we rose to defend it while Guy Valvert cowered in his castle. Then, when we wanted to compensate the injured, he said they should be happy to die in the streets.”

  “He’s the rightful lord,” the woman insisted.

  “There’s no such thing. We built a new society in Guerron where people like us have a voice! Valvert had his chance to step back willingly, and instead he tried to bribe the Duke of Condillac into invading us.”

  “So that’s why you tried to kill him...” She slumped back, as good as confirming that she’d at least come across them. “Doesn’t make you anything like me.”

  “Perhaps not. When the time came to leave the mountains, I did, rather than cling to my home. Some did, like you, and they might do the same thing you’re doing now, what they believe is the right thing. But I promise you, I never wanted Valvert dead. He simply couldn’t be allowed free after setting his guards against his own people, after flagrantly violating the law to persecute his uncle’s creditor, denying him even a trial.” Fernan softened his voice, making one final appeal. “I’m not in Villechart anymore—now I’m First Speaker of the Guerron Commune. I will personally see to it that you are not punished for trying to help. In your position, knowing what you know, I would have done the same. Instead, I assure you, the Commune will handsomely reward anyone who helps return the Valverts to face justice.” Please listen...

  “Fuck you!” the woman shouted, perhaps unsurprisingly. Fernan readied himself to go fly up for a better look when he noticed her pointing down at the floor, the edge to her aura slightly softened.

  Ah.

  “You may want to go,” Fernan whispered, beckoning towards the door.

  “It’s my damned house, boy. Blather all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It’s not about that. But to keep you safe—” Fernan cut himself off as a low rumble began rolling across the ground.

  The earth began to shake, the house rocking back and forth rapidly enough that Fernan felt compelled to rise into the air to keep himself steady. The woman couldn’t keep her footing, falling painfully to the ground as her house steadily fell apart.

  Two warm auras began to rise into view, emerging from the stone floor just as Fernan lifted the woman to carry her out to safety. He set her down outside with a muttered ‘Run’, then darted back inside the cottage to keep his eyes on the two figures who’d risen up from the floor.

  Unsurprisingly, it was Guy and Valentine Valvert, the latter walking with a limp. “Good for nothing traitor,” Guy spat at the woman in Fernan’s arms. “Just like you, Montaigne.”

  “I did everything I could to spare your life! If you hadn’t conspired with foreign powers to invade Guerron, perhaps I could have even succeeded!” Loath as he was to do it, Fernan made the decision there and then that he wouldn’t spare Guy Valvert from the consequences of his actions. It’s not worth what it would cost the Commune.

  “You usurped your rightful ruler and threw me in a dungeon, breaking your sworn oath as a knight. Do not act as if you were doing me a favor.”

  “You slandered my sister so badly that she was disowned for it,” Valentine added, adding another questionable deed to the ledger of Cédric Bougitte. “I don’t even know if she’s still alive, Montaigne. You used her help, then threw her to the shadowcats the instant she wasn’t useful to you anymore.”

  I wish what you’re saying wasn’t so true. Fernan’s motives hadn’t had any malice... It had seemed necessary, the only way to stop Flammare from waging a war of annihilation against Hiverre... But if I’m honest with myself, there was probably another way. I just didn’t look hard enough because I felt guilty about how I handled the White Night.

  “You can’t have gotten much sleep,” Fernan said, rather than address the accusation. “You rode that airship straight into the ground, then clawed your way out of the wreck. My power has only grown since last we fought, Valentine Valvert, while you can’t have much energy left after burning four years’ worth of savings on your escape. Even if you use a sage’s last resort, it will truncate a life that could yet last decades. Surrender now, and you’ll be escorted back to Guerron with no further charges added to your ledger.”

  “Or what?” Valentine’s aura blazed bright, an earthy mix of red and brown. “I think not. All I have to do is kill you now and I’ll get away clean, my sister avenged. A few years of life is more than worth it.”

  Before Fernan could reply, a massive wall of earth shot up from the floor, splitting the entire cottage in half and surrounding Fernan on all sides. Then the floor opened beneath him as the ground continued to shake.

  Fine. I tracked you this far. I’m not giving up now. If he failed, the entire Commune would be in jeopardy, absent a necessary moderating voice. And just as I can’t sacrifice myself for Guy Valvert, I won’t hold back against a sage determined to kill me.

  Fernan held himself in the air with a steady blast of fire from his feet, raising his hands aloft to break free with a blast of green flame. Shards of rock exploded outwards as Fernan blasted himself free, glowing red from the heat.

  If you want to burn your own life fighting me, I can’t stop you. But I can’t let it stop me either. The sooner the fight was over, the longer Valentine would have to live. That would have to be enough.

  No other option remained.