Julius had not expected such a honest admission. And he smiled back, as he knew precisely how Rothwell felt.

  “So what will you do about it, Lord Mayor?” Julius asked.

  “For anyone in this world to do as they please, they need one thing.”

  “Strength?” Julius offered.

  Rothwell shook his head.

  “Power.”

  Julius laughed heartily.

  “Is there a difference?”

  “There is.” Rothwell leaned forward in his chair as he continued. “Power may come from strength. But it may also come as a consequence of influence, knowledge, or, in most cases, wealth.”

  “I prefer my answer,” Julius quipped.

  “Be that as it may,” Rothwell said with a sigh, “That does not change the fact that this world has rules. And such rules favor those with wealth.”

  “Well, forgive me, Lord Mayor, but I cannot help but notice a distinct lack of your wealth compared to others.”

  Rothwell grinned devilishly.

  “That is precisely why I have called you here today.”

  Julius leaned his elbows on the armchair as he spoke.

  “Care to explain?”

  Rothwell seemed to have been waiting for this moment. He adjusted himself in his chair and straightened his neck.

  “As you know, my appointment to Viemen began during the War of Blood and Iron, and—”

  “I did not know that.”

  Rothwell gave Julius a side-eye as he continued.

  “And in fulfilling the duties of that appointment, I became aware of a certain secret communication.”

  Julius was interested now. So much so, that he had no sarcastic retort to give. Rothwell recognized this and it pleased him greatly.

  “My men brought to me a letter from one Duke Sergei Drakov of Rasnayak, a Dukedom from within Boginsklad.”

  “And why would Boginsklad nobility reach out to the enemy in the middle of a war?”

  “Drakov feared that with the state of the war, Boginsklad was destined to lose. Apparently, the king had begun to seize the wealth of local nobles in an attempt to fund the conflict. Sergei was a newly appointed Duke, and his family had immigrated to Boginsklad only a few generations ago. He feared that his pedigree would betray him and that he would be next on the chopping block.”

  “He was seeking asylum from Omnirius?”

  “Precisely,” Rothwell continued, “Sergei wished to flee Boginsklad with as much of his fortune as he could carry. I responded at once, telling him I would send men of my own to meet him in the south and escort him safely to Viemen.”

  “Then where is he?”

  Rothwell pulled open the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a lock box. From beneath his vest he produced a small necklace that had a tiny metal key attached to the end. Rothwell placed the key in the lock box and turned until there was a click. He took several letters out and presented them to Julius.

  “My men first rendezvoused with Sergei just outside the border of Boginsklad territory. From there,” he added as he traced his finger from letter to letter, “They continued to send word as they traveled in secret from Malendar’s Edge toward Viemen. The last I heard from them, they were said to have been arriving at Svolden, an outpost town to the south.” Rothwell shook his head as ran his finger along the edge of the topmost parchment. “They were supposed to have arrived in Viemen a few days after this last correspondence, but they never came.”

  “And what of your men?”

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  “They never returned.”

  Julius studied Rothwell a few moments. Then suddenly he burst into laughter. Rothwell was most displeased by this behavior and scowled at him. Only after a few hearty laughs did Julius finally decide to speak.

  “The ghost of a dead Duke is your plan?”

  Rothwell said nothing; he only remained seething at Julius’ dismissive laughter.

  “It has been over five years, Julian. The man is dead. His treasure is gone.”

  “I do not believe so.”

  Julius threw his hands into the air.

  “A Duke who fled his country with his fortune in tow goes missing on the road? It was a time of war. He is most certainly dead and robbed. Killed by a stray arrow, or wandering bandits, or dysentery— you can take your pick!”

  Rothwell shook his head.

  “I thought as you did,” he admitted. “But it is as you’ve said. A Duke from Boginsklad left with his fortune in tow. Were such a thing to be found, there would have been word of it, no?”

  Julius hadn’t considered this. His silent deliberation was enough to spur Rothwell onward.

  “I had my men scour the area,” he continued, “Kept my ear to the ground this entire time. Not. One. Word. Not a single mention of Drakov or his fortune in all this time. Nothing.”

  “And that is why you have had me and my men running errands in the southern forests? You’re looking for this treasure?”

  Rothwell said nothing, but his look of smug indulgence said it all.

  “No one but me knows of Drakov,” Rothwell said plainly. “All who did have vanished mysteriously along with his fortune.” Rothwell flipped through the papers and withdrew one from the bottom. “Drakov had left Boginsklad with fifty hired men. They encountered no trouble on their journey to Svolden— suffered no setbacks.”

  “And what of Svolden itself?” Julian asked. “The town falls within Omnirian territory, does it not?”

  Rothwell nodded.

  “Our last official military correspondence with Svolden was a few days before Sergei was expected to arrive in Viemen. After they failed to arrive, I became worried. But when we stopped receiving messages from the scouts in Svolden, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.” Rothwell paused in a moment of recollection, then continued. “It took time before we could send a company south to investigate, as we had assumed it had been taken by invading forces from Boginsklad. Yet, even after the war was officially ended, we heard no word from Svolden. Eventually, I was able to send an envoy south to investigate, but…”

  “But what?”

  “They could not locate Svolden.”

  Julius eyed Rothwell curiously.

  “What do you mean they couldn’t locate it?”

  “The men had followed the roads which they knew by heart. Yet as they drew closer to Svolden, the pathways curiously began to disappear…until eventually they had vanished completely.”

  “Roads do not simply disappear.”

  “No they do not.” Rothwell folded his hands on the desk and leveled a glance at Julius. “Drakov was more than a simple nobleman. He was an eclectic and a merchant. And,” Rothwell added, “I have heard that he had a tendency to deal in oddities.”

  Julius smiled wryly at the implication of Rothwell’s words.

  “You believe something unnatural has caused Svolden to disappear, along with the Duke’s treasure?”

  “That is what I need you to investigate,” Rothwell said. “If we can find Drakov’s fortune, we would have enough wealth to rival a nation. More than Lord Viemen, more than Sir Perry, and perhaps even more than the Magistrate itself is worth.” Rothwell’s eyes gleamed greedy as he spoke. “Enough wealth…enough power that we could do as we please.”

  “And you do not fear that such a move would incite the judgment of Eadenfros?”

  Rothwell shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Officially, I have reported Svolden as having been raised during the war. No one but me is looking for it. Besides, Eadenfros would not have the resources to object. You’ve seen their meager military display. A mere forty men? No. If Eadenfros had the strength to combat that dragon, then they would surely have done so, rather than leave it up to chance— or worse. They are desperate for men. Desperate for resources. The economy is weak and there is little for them to spare. If we had all that wealth…they would have no choice but to leave us be.”

  ‘Enough wealth to rival a nation.’

  The prospect was certainly enticing.

  Though Rothwell did many things that Julius found unscrupulous, he could not deny this potential boon. If Rothwell was correct, then the only thing that separated them from unfathomable wealth was the location of a dead man.

  Julius hated politics and rules. He preferred above all else the simple things. He preferred to approach his problems with an ax or a sword or even his bare fists, rather than words or arbitrary custom. Yet, after listening to Rothwell, it now appeared that a solution to all of his problems was one potential ax-swing away.

  What more could he ask for?

  Julius smiled wide as he stood up from his chair. Rothwell was taken slightly aback by this sudden joyful display; and truthfully he was a bit unsettled. For a typically dispassionate one such as Julius to now grin so childishly was strange indeed.

  Yet smile he did. For in this moment, he had finally found that which he had been searching for. That unspecified thing which had eluded him since first he fled Torsden’s Rift all those years ago. Julius shared Rothwell’s disdain for obedience. And he would, in time, suffer no master. Thanks to Mayor Rothwell of Viemen, he had finally found a means to an end. And he was happy.

  Julius stared down at Rothwell from his towering height; and Rothwell stared uncomfortably back at him.

  “What say you, Julius?”

  At the question, Julius bowed his head.

  “I am at your command, Lord Mayor.”