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pastacarver · 1 month ago

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The Duet of Swords and Secrets By John Carver.

Part Malum. The Stag Among Serpents

Two years had passed since Malum first stepped through the stone archway of Silverrun Academy, heart pounding and eyes bright with ambition. Now, he moved through the halls like a man carved from its very walls—respected, watched, and never underestimated.

Silverrun trained the future commanders of the Empire: tacticians, quartermasters, strategists, and warlords in waiting. And among the hundreds of cadets, one trio stood apart.

Malum led.

Liara supplied.

Daniel enforced.

They’d earned their reputation the hard way—through endless drills, tactical victories, and a string of bruised egos left in their wake. Cadets whispered about them like a storm: unavoidable, disciplined, and strangely balanced.

Malum—average height, slightly chubby but quick-witted, with long, tousled black hair and a beard that never quite grew in clean—commanded attention not by volume, but precision. His emerald eyes scanned rooms like they held secrets, and they often did. Malum always knew when to press, when to retreat, and when to make someone feel like it was their idea all along.

Liara kept her dark brown hair knotted in a bun so tight it looked painful. She had a way of organizing everything—from logistics to blackmail material. If you needed extra rations, she could find them. If you needed information on another squad, she already had a list. Her eyes were sharp, and her lips had not smiled since orientation.

Daniel was the hammer. Muscular, clean-shaven, and quick to carry out orders. He didn’t speak unless he needed to, but when he did, people listened. He was taller than Malum, stronger than anyone in their year, and had once broken a sparring dummy clean in half. But he followed Malum without question—and Liara without complaint.

Their days blurred together in rhythm. Mornings were for sword drills—Malum wielding a custom sabre, more duellist than brute. Daniel trained with a broadsword, slow but crushing. Liara never fought in the pit but watched every match like she was calculating odds.

After lunch came lectures. Military history, siege theory, diplomacy, map-reading. Malum took furious notes, sometimes adding flair to otherwise dry military quotes. Daniel napped with one eye open. Liara memorized everything without ever writing it down.

Sometimes, they'd be summoned to upper floors—meeting rooms where instructors handed out special missions: mock negotiations, simulated town planning, even theoretical mutinies. Malum often led their presentations. His charisma filled the room.

Today, after a long day of weapons drills and a heated discussion on supply line attrition in coastal warfare, the trio walked together through the academy courtyard, passing younger cadets who straightened at their approach.

“We have a meeting with Commander Ardyn tomorrow morning,” Liara said, eyes flicking over a schedule etched on her notepad.

Daniel cracked his neck. “Is it about the third-year trials?”

“Could be,” Malum replied, eyes on the academy tower. “Or something worse.”

Liara adjusted her bun. “Either way, we’ll be ready.”

Malum smiled faintly. “We always are.”

And as the bell in the courtyard tolled, its echo rolling over the stone like a drumbeat of destiny, the trio kept walking—toward whatever came next.

Commander Ardyn was a man carved from command itself—square-shouldered, grey at the temples, and always too aware of the room. He stood by the window when the trio arrived, hands clasped behind his back, overlooking the parade square below.

The heavy door creaked open.

Daniel entered first, his boots silent on the marble, posture straight. Without a word, he stepped aside and took position next to the door—ever the enforcer, ever the shield.

Liara followed. She moved like a whisper with a blade hidden inside. Her bow was sharp, crisp, but more courtesy than deference. Without waiting, she strode to Ardyn’s desk and picked up a document resting on its surface. Her eyes flicked across the page, reading faster than most officers ever could. She didn’t ask permission. She never did.

Last came Malum. He entered with his hands behind his back and an elegant nod that passed for a bow—smooth, graceful, and perfectly measured. As he straightened, his left hand slipped lazily to the hilt of his sabre, the picture of ease draped over calculation.

“Cadets,” Ardyn said without turning. “You’re being summoned.”

Malum arched a brow slightly. “To where, sir?”

Ardyn finally turned, his face unreadable. “A ball. Hosted by Lord-General Cassavir in the high courts of Ganymede. Nobles. Merchants. Strategists. And snakes in silk. Your job is to navigate them. Earn favour. Build connections. And find the one who doesn’t belong.”

Liara narrowed her eyes, still holding the paper. “There’s a mole.”

“There’s a traitor,” Ardyn said. “One with influence. We need someone clever enough to sniff them out, charming enough to get invited to the next party—and capable of surviving what follows.”

Daniel gave a single nod. “Then we’ll get it done.”

Malum let a small, wry smile curve his lips. “Then I suppose we’ll need to dress the part.”

Malum sifted through the last of the prepared items laid out in their shared quarters when something unusual caught his eye—a small wooden box, no larger than his palm, tucked beneath the fold of Liara’s cloak. He popped the latch open with a curious thumb.

Inside lay a ring. Bronze, burnished with age, etched with the symbol of a stag mid-leap. Its antlers arched like a crown, delicate and regal.

He slid it onto his finger.

It tightened perfectly to fit him, the metal growing warm. A strange pulse passed through his hand, quiet and invigorating. The exhaustion of the week—sleepless nights, drills, lectures—faded like mist under the sun.

Malum blinked once, flexing his hand. The ring sat among the others on his fingers like it had always belonged there.

“Where’d you get that?” Liara asked from across the room, barely glancing up as she adjusted Daniel’s cuffs.

“Gift from fate,” Malum said with a smile.

“You stole it.”

“Found it.”

Liara narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

The ballroom was a golden beast—every flicker of candlelight a gleam of ambition, every note of music a whisper of old money. Cloaks trailed like banners behind noblemen. Jewelry clinked like distant chimes. Every smile was a knife polished clean.

Malum entered first, posture elegant, the stag-ring glinting faintly on his finger. The chainmail beneath his formal coat was invisible to the eye but heavy enough to remind him he wasn’t here just to dance.

Liara glided in next, composed and unhurried, cloak sharp with geometric folds and embroidered trim that mirrored the Academy's crest. Daniel followed, stiff-backed and wary, his eyes already scanning the crowd.

The trio made their rounds—slowly, deliberately.

Malum floated through the crowd with ease, deflecting praise, questions, and veiled insults with equal charm. But Daniel? Daniel was a fortress misplaced on a ballroom floor.

A merchant’s wife approached him. “You’re… very tall. Is that sword real?”

Daniel looked like she’d asked him to recite a poem. “Yes,” he said.

There was an awkward silence.

Liara swept in. “Forgive him. He’s shy around women whose perfume could be used to poison wells.”

Later, a trade lord cornered Daniel near the refreshment table. “What do you think about the recent uprisings in the southern provinces?”

Daniel’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Malum arrived just in time. “Ah, yes, the uprisings. Terrible things. Especially when a man just wants to enjoy a spiced pear and gets handed a lecture instead.”

Daniel nodded solemnly. “Exactly.”

Liara, meanwhile, was a magnet for nobles eager to flirt—none of them prepared for the steel beneath her silence.

One leaned in with a smile. “Lady Liara, I must say, your bearing reminds me of my late aunt. She was… formidable.”

“Baroness Ilseth of House Trevors,” Liara said, already dissecting him. “Your aunt. She died in 732 in a boating accident, though rumour claimed it wasn’t an accident at all. Something about debts to House Drelkin, wasn’t it?”

The noble blinked, stepped back, then turned and walked away without another word.

Another tried. “You favour the colours of northern nobility. Is there family there?”

“House Bern,” she replied smoothly. “Three daughters. You’re the second son. They cut your inheritance two years ago and moved you to a lesser seat by the coast.”

He paled. “How do you—?”

“I read.”

By the time Malum re-joined her, three nobles had retreated and one had spilled wine on himself out of sheer nervousness.

“I see you’re making friends,” Malum quipped.

“They started it.”

He raised a brow. “And I’m the one accused of being antagonistic.”

“You’re actually antagonistic. I just… encourage evolution through shame.”

Malum smiled.

The string quartet struck a triumphant chord as a new figure swept into the ballroom—a man draped in emerald silk, his boots polished to a mirror shine, and his hair tousled as if it had been styled by the wind itself. He moved like someone who knew everyone was watching and loved them for it.

Jona Altman had arrived.

Nobles parted for him like waves before a ship. He offered extravagant bows, air kisses, and flourishes of his gloved hand to every passing lady and lord. But it was Malum who drew his full attention the moment he saw it.

Jona gasped.

“My stars—what a find! That ring! On your hand—where did you get it?” he asked, practically gliding across the floor until he stood toe-to-toe with Malum, eyes fixed on the stag engraved in bronze.

Malum looked at the ring, then back at the noble. “Found it, as one does.”

Jona leaned in, his voice lowering. “Do you even realize what you’re wearing? That crest belongs to House Altman—or it did, two generations ago. A noble family brought low by scandal and stubbornness.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Though… not my branch. That would explain the difference in your posture—far too elegant for my cousins.”

He took a half-step back, examining Malum more closely. “And those eyes… Emerald, aren’t they? You don’t have Altman blood. No, no. You’re something else entirely.”

Malum offered a smooth smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Clearly a rogue element,” Jona mused. “Possibly dangerous. Definitely interesting.”

Liara returned just in time to hear the tail end of that comment, arms crossed. “We’re here on business, not for amusement.”

“Oh, darling, everything is business. You just haven’t learned how to monetize your charm yet.”

Malum cleared his throat. “Jona Altman, I presume?”

“The one and only. Or at least the best-dressed.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”

“Malum Caedo,” he said simply, shaking it. “Silverrun cadet.”

Behind him, Daniel leaned in toward Liara. “The stag kind of suits him, doesn’t it?”

Liara raised a brow. “It’s certainly ominous.”

“I was thinking… if we ever open a private company, like… I don’t know, mercenary work or logistics,” Daniel said, scratching the back of his neck, “the stag wouldn’t be a bad crest.”

Malum overheard and smirked. “Let’s survive this dance first before we design logos.”

Jona clapped. “Oh, yes! That’s the spirit. Survive the dance, then sell your legend.” He twirled once, theatrically. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to insult someone’s choice of drapery and find the nearest scandal. Ta-ta!”

He vanished into the crowd like a gust of perfume and wine.

Daniel blinked. “That… was a man.”

Liara shook her head. “A disaster. But an informative one.”

Malum turned the ring once on his finger and felt the faint hum again—energy, potential, and something older beneath it.

“Well,” he said, “at least we know we’ve made an impression.”

The trio didn’t have long to enjoy the lull.

Moments after Jona disappeared into the crowd, the string quartet shifted to a slower, more deliberate tempo. The rhythm gave the impression of conversation cloaked in velvet—perfect for eavesdropping or quiet manoeuvring. Malum leaned subtly against a pillar, one eye on the dancefloor and the other on the ring.

Its presence was curious. Each time he twisted it on his finger, his body felt lighter, thoughts clearer. His fatigue, which had nagged him for weeks during training, had vanished like smoke in wind. And now it bore a history—possibly noble, definitely powerful. That made it dangerous.

Daniel fidgeted next to him, stiff as a statue in the growing sea of nobles.

“I hate this,” he muttered. “I’d rather be in a sparring pit with two broken ribs than talk to these people.”

“Let’s not give them ideas,” Malum said under his breath.

As if summoned by misfortune, a portly merchant in gold trim approached Daniel, drink in hand, and began talking about the price of cotton exports and how it related to cavalry saddle production. Daniel’s face froze. Panic was subtle but real. His eyes screamed for rescue.

Liara appeared behind the man like a stormcloud. “If your house imports from the Traston coast, you’re in for disappointment,” she said flatly. “The blockade’s been in place for three weeks. You’d know that if you read past the first page of the war bulletins.”

The merchant’s smile faltered. “Well, I—”

“Additionally, your house was publicly fined last season for tax irregularities in port tariffs,” she added.

The merchant blinked and backed away, muttering about checking on his wife.

Daniel exhaled, looking at her like she’d saved him from a burning building. “That was… effective.”

“It was fun,” Liara replied, already scanning for the next potential threat.

But she was hardly safe herself.

Over the next hour, no fewer than five noble sons tried their luck with Liara. One asked her to dance. She declined with a lecture on the military expenditure of his father’s estate and how it indicated a lack of discipline in house finances. Another commented on her eyes—she responded by listing his great-uncle’s failure during the Siege of Belmar with an eerie level of detail.

By the fourth noble, even Malum felt a little sorry for them.

“Do you ever let anyone off easy?” he asked, swirling his drink.

“Only the competent,” she said, brushing past him.

Daniel leaned in again. “If she flirts with someone, I’m leaving.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Malum replied.

And just like that, the crowd shifted again—Jona Altman, in his flowing emerald silks, reappeared with a grin like sunlight off glass.

“Darling!” he called to Malum, waving a feathered fan. “I’ve decided. If you die in battle, I get the ring. Agreed?”

“Let’s table that conversation,” Malum replied dryly, hiding a smile.

“Fine. But don’t let it go to waste.”

Jona had hardly finished spinning away from Malum before he collided—deliberately—with Liara, who had just dismissed another noble with a historical insult sharp enough to draw blood.

“Oh, my stars, it’s you,” Jona said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “The she-wolf of Silverrun! Quick—snap at me, I need to feel alive.”

Liara’s brow twitched. “You’re in my way.”

“That’s where all the interesting people are,” he said, tilting his head. “What’s your name, darling? So I know what to embroider when I’m crying into my pillow later.”

“Liara.”

“Mmm. Strong. Commanding. Vaguely threatening. You’ll be popular, if you survive.”

Liara’s arms folded. “Is this how you network? You float around insulting people and hoping someone rich finds you charming?”

“It’s worked surprisingly well,” Jona said. “Not that you’d understand. You weaponize facts the way others use poison. Tell me—what’s your opinion on House Vellencourt’s grain tariffs?”

“They’re unsustainable. Like your presence.”

Jona’s laugh was theatrical and genuine. “Oh, I do love a good frontal assault. But do you really think you can just walk into the ballroom, dripping disdain, and not get pushed back?”

“I don’t recall asking for your approval,” she replied coldly. “Or your opinion.”

Just then, Malum arrived, catching the rising tension in the air.

“Oh by the Gods, can’t you just—” he began, exasperated.

Jona turned to him, eyes gleaming. “Ah! My saviour. Come to put your wolf on a leash?”

Liara stepped in, voice sharp as ever. “Am I yours to command? Does the collar 'round my neck have your name on it? I kneel to no one but the Emperor, and you most certainly don’t speak for him.”

Jona blinked, amused and visibly impressed.

“You literally wear a collar,” Liara added with a tilt of her head, smirking.

“I may choose to kneel recreationally,” Jona quipped, with a flourish of his fan. “Consent is key, darling.”

Daniel, watching from the side lines, covered his mouth to hide a laugh.

Malum stepped between them and addressed Jona directly, tone cool but clear. “We’re here to build alliances, not trade insults.”

“Oh, I was building,” Jona said. “It’s not my fault your friend uses bricks made of contempt and razor wire.”

Malum ignored the jab. “Ten spears go into battle and nine shatter,” he said, voice calm but commanding. “Did the war forge the one that remained? No. All the war did was identify the spear that would not break.”

A hush fell briefly in the nearby circle. Jona looked at him, expression unreadable, then gave a slow, dramatic clap.

“Well said,” he replied. “You’ll do well here. Or die spectacularly. Either way, memorable.”

With that, the trio turned and began to move through the ballroom, leaving Jona behind amid a throng of whispers.

But the noble wasn’t done yet.

Later, during a toast led by Lord-General Cassavir, Jona stepped forward unexpectedly, raising his voice.

“Ever since I lost my wife,” he said, standing tall with a rare earnestness, “I swore I would push myself to become the greatest member of His Majesty’s court this empire has ever seen. Let the past burn if it must—but I will not fade with it.”

A voice from the crowd called out mockingly, “Still not taking you back, Jona!”

Jona didn’t miss a beat. “WELL FUCK YOU TOO, STACY!”

Glasses clinked awkwardly. Someone stifled a laugh. But Jona stood proud, smiling like a man who had already turned his scars into stories.

The moon hung high above Silverrun as the carriage rattled back toward the academy, its wheels cutting through the silence of the evening. The city lights dimmed behind them, replaced by the quiet rustle of wind over stone.

Inside, Daniel sat with his arms crossed, eyes closed as though trying to erase the memory of a hundred failed small-talk attempts. Malum lounged across from him, fingers idly toying with the stag ring, still faintly humming with unseen magic. Liara sat beside him, her gaze distant, brows furrowed in thought.

“Well,” Malum said, breaking the silence. “That went better than expected. No poison, no duels, and only one public shouting match.”

Liara finally spoke. “I’ve never heard of him before.”

Daniel cracked open one eye. “Jona?”

She nodded. “I’ve read dossiers on all the major noble houses. Altman shows up in history, sure. Two branches—one ruined by scandal, the other faded after the South Reforms. But Jona Altman? Nothing. No records, no political mentions, not even gossip. It’s like he doesn’t officially exist.”

Malum raised a brow. “Then how does a man like that get into the same room as Cassavir and the high court?”

Daniel sat up straighter, thoughtful now. “Maybe he’s a ghost from the archives. Someone erased… or someone who made himself invisible.”

“Or,” Liara added, “he’s exactly what he appears to be: an attention-seeking socialite playing five games at once and laughing when people assume it’s just fashion.”

Malum leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage. “He recognized this ring,” he said, tapping the stag with a knuckle. “Said it belonged to a lost branch of his house. He even called me elegant for not being one of them.”

“You are elegant,” Daniel offered.

“Not the point.”

Liara’s brow pinched tighter. “If he’s telling the truth, and that ring was once an Altman heirloom, then why do I know nothing about it? A sigil like that should have left a trail—marriages, treaties, scandals. But there’s nothing.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Malum said, voice low. “Maybe someone wanted the trail buried.”

Daniel looked between them. “So… we’re thinking possible ex-noble turned spy?”

Liara shook her head. “I don’t think he’s a spy.”

“Well, that’s comforting.”

“I think,” she continued, “he’s something worse. I think he’s a variable—unaccounted for, unpredictable, and completely outside the models we’ve built. He’s not working for someone. He’s working for himself.”

Malum gave a soft hum. “Those are the most dangerous kind.”

The carriage rolled on, quiet again for a stretch. Then Daniel said, “Still. That stag would look good on a banner.”

Malum chuckled. “Let’s survive the next meeting with Commander Ardyn before we start ordering embroidery.”

Liara smiled faintly, despite herself. “And next time, let me handle the nobles.”

“You mean scare them off?” Daniel said, grinning.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Malum looked down at the ring again, feeling the quiet thrum in his bones—strength, clarity, something ancient and watchful.

They were getting closer to something. And for the first time in weeks, Malum wasn’t sure if they were ready for it

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