Night of Quietus

[Fez_The_Kid]

Solo.

En masse, the citizens of Ursten moved about the cobbled streets in the light of day, countless figures clustering to and from grim warehouses, trader stores and taverns. The sky was clear overhead, not a single mass of cloud there to spare those who rustled below from the fierce afternoon sunlight. The air was hot, dry and motionless - no wind to keep it going. Frequenting the main avenue were merchant wagons drawn by draught geldings, their muscular necks screaming to be stretched as they labored on - and, of course, its more elegant albeit less frequent twin, the aristocratic carriages, vehicles transporting the nobility, their sides polished and marked with the particular House's emblem.

The main avenue was the city's bustling kernel, spanning its entire width from the northern main gate for two leagues till it halted directly before a cul de sac of sorts. The blocking end, however, was not a wall, only a gloomy, somber castle which housed this precinct's notoriously iron-fisted ruler; Earl and Lord Raeder Naelleris of Ursten. On both sides sprawled the entire city, the eastern quarter if only a bit more commercial. All side-streets led to and coverged at the titular main avenue, interspersed by the occasional steeple, square-topped edifices thrust into the afternoon sky. The main avenue was more than just mercantile; after all, it harbored a dozen or so estates belonging to the few noble families comprising Ursten's aristocrasy.

These families were not with the most power - partially, in truth, because Ursten was not the biggest city in the region. In fact, it is dwarfed by its much larger, and more globally known cousin called Archen - a major Salvarian megalopolis. Which would take, if on horseback, also ignoring the common traveling hurdles, no more than two days and a night. That is what is claimed, and written, in the so-called geographical tomes.

The validity to that, as Theodlac Lind could attest, was far from defensible. In his mind, the authors behind these works were but degenerates with quills, malevolent beings intent on delivering vexation to all the cretins who perused their words; the two days and a night had been elongated and stretched to a hefty period of seven days and a half-night - and for that alone he would curse them all to oblivion. Another thought that emerged in his mind was that, perhaps, the traveling hurdles - for they were many - were perhaps not included in the aforementioned period. He may as well have been simply been forgetful. After all, he was closing in on his sixties - not a young age by human standards.

Whichever, he had managed evading these obstacles, at the cost of losing one poor sod that had been babbling during both journeys without end. Until the wolves took him, that is. Which had been, Lind would doubly concur, a blessing in disguise; why Master Daelon had decided that he would need that corpse's presence was something completely lost on Lind. If anything, the pair of weathered horses that had been pulling his carriage the entire journey were more than enough company. At least they don't jabber in my ear…

[Fez_The_Kid]

Sheathed in a layer of sweat, the major-domo nudged his mounts across the arched gateway, making his way through the kinetic crowds beyond. Lind noticed a strangely restless facet to the throng today, but thought nothing of it and carried on, exchanging greetings with locals as he sat back in his driver seat, rhythmic clacks sounding from beneath the horses as they steadily trotted over cobblestones.


They reached the third square, a joint of buildings and stores centering a beast-shaped fountain, water sluicing from its permenantly snarling maw - a gift to the Ubissad House from Earl Naelleris himself, desgined by the most adept hands Salvar had to offer. Lind held it in his proud gaze for a short while before steering the mounts right and into a flanking side-street - where the Ubissad estate lay at the far end. The establishment was preceded by a garden, a flag-stoned path wounding through to end at the house's large bronze-branded gates. The building had stood strong through the centuries, although it seemed, Lind considered, studying the subtle cracks that had crazed the walls, that it needed a bit of refurbishement. At the very least, he would have to remember to inform Daelon of this.

A moment later he swung from the carriage and handed the reins to a manservant, patting the weary beasts as he walked up the half-moon stairs leading to the limestone veranda. Lind produced a handkerchief from his coat and mopped his sweaty forhead, nudging the door open and walking through the empty entrance hall. He paused at a familiar footfall coming from an antechamber he had passed.

"Master Lind."

The major-domo turned on his heel, his face expressionless as he gazed level with Master Daelon's young attendant. The man was barely in his twenties, but for some reason or the other had grown on the viscount and became his own courtier - another actuality lost on Lind. "Yes, Ryderr? Be brief, please. I do not wish to test Master Daelon's patience."

Ryderr's nod was fervent. "Yes, Master Lind, I shall. Remember the Flourkwis' last visit?"

Lind paused in thought, then his expression brightened knowingly. He nodded. The courtier continued, "They visited again not two days ago." His face then strangely flushed, "I.. spoke with her - with that girl, I mean."

Stroking his forehead, Lind had pinched his lips together. "Oh dear.." he muttered, then glanced at the reddening man. "And? How did that go?"

Ryderr was silent for a moment, then spoke, "She spoke with me, failed to tell me of her name, but spoke with me, nontheless. I stuttered here and there, but - sir," he said nervously, "I think the missus truly likes me. She was smiling the entire time - oh, and that smile on her lips… I wish I could, could—"

"Be wed to her?" After a long moment, also after being slightly stunned by the major-domo's words, Ryder smiled. A smirk played on Lind's stubbled lips, his eyes glistening. "If you're going to take my advice, Ryder, then hear: Do not bother. Even if she wanted you, she would not - could not - marry you," he paused, seeing the shock rip through the courtier's expression," only because of her blood. The noble simply do not mix with us. Is that clear, Ryder?"

[Fez_The_Kid]

Once more stunned, this time clearly at a more significant degree, the courtier managed, "Yes, Master Lind." His voice was so strained that it nipped at the major-domo's heart, who glanced away for a moment, cursing under his breath. He made to give more advice, sought to at least reassure the lad, but then found the damage he had done irreversable. Both were silent for a moment, then Lind spoke again. "Is Master Daelon in his study?" he asked.

Ryder was agonizingly slow with his answer. "I believe so," he frowned. "I last saw him the night past next to his room, conversing with the missus. I am unsure over what, but I believe—"

Lind interrupted, his eyes wide with fury. "You were eavesdropping on the viscount?!" the major-domo's breath hissed through grit teeth.

Ryder was blinking quickly. "No, I would not dare!— Master Lind, how could you accuse me of such? I trust Master Daelon and the missus with my life! You must believe me!"

"What is the noise about?"

Both turned at the new voice, which had come from the flight of stairs leading to the higher levels. Lind bowed his head, his expression still affected by his stifled outrage. "Master Daelon," he acknowledged, his tone softened significantly. "We were just discussing where we could find you, sir."

The robed figure now stood before them, to which they had turned and faced it. Daelon studied them for a moment, the weight of his questioning gaze so vast that Lind's feet almost toppled below him. "By raising your voice in my estate?"

"We beg your pardon, Master Daelon," Lind said tonelessly.

The viscount's gaze flicked to Ryder, who had avoided it the entire time. "Ryder."

"Sir?"

"Cheer up, Ryder. You look as if you were condemned to the gallows." The viscount tilted his head, a slight frown marring his brow. He asked, "Is something the matter?"

The courtier had brought his hands behind his hands, eyes unswerving on the glossy marble flooring. "No, sir, nothing."

Daelon allowed himself a nod, then glanced at Lind again. "Wait for me in my study. I won't be long."

"I shall await you, sir." The major-domo half-nodded, half-bowed, turning at the gesture. He heard the two murmur behind him, and a sequence of halls and rooms later was at the designated workroom.

[Fez_The_Kid]

He awoke to naught but the cackles of firewood, young flames licking at bark and bouncing their light across the room. The fireplace had been built into one of the festooned walls and, other than few sconces, was the study's main source of light. He could detect no sound, nor any footfalls in the halls outside. Slouched on an armchair beside the hearth, Lind glanced at a nearby window and saw that it was dark outside. Sundown or midnight, he could not tell. Nor, also, could he tell how long he had slept, for it seemed that Daelon had an unfortunate change of plans - and, not unexpectedly, failed to inform him so.

Regardless, he would have to keep his patience whole, else he would be putting his job at risk. He sat back in the chair, pulling himself upright at a pop of his lower backbone. After waiting for the pain to subside, he lifted his gaze to the embellishments that adorned the walls. On his right was the room's only window, a rectangle-shaped casement of darkness faintly stippled by the city lights. To his left was what he looked for - not in the sense of unknowing, for this, of course, was far from his first time - upon which he fixed his full attention, leaning in on his seat as he studied the distinct array closely.

Closest to him was an emblem of the House - an esutcheon bearing the symbolic figure of a cat-like, maned beast, standing on its hindlimbs and colored midnight-blue. Behind it was a backdrop that was solid white, its lower half a juxtaposition of colors of red and green small-sized pentagons. A pair of double-edged swords criss-crossed the shield from behind, each with a golden-polished hilt and a pommel bearing the creature's head. Lind studied it for a moment longer, then flicked his gaze to the next piece.

Something in these festoons had always kindled a feeling somewhere within him, of pride, of relish - and he had always found bliss in them, no matter how many times he'd had done it beforehand. Besides that, it was a time-killer more than anything. The perfect pastime, one that involve not pains and strains, especially while waiting for someone. Much less one's overseer and patron. Such as the viscount, who was the master of this estate and the representer of the House of Ubissad.

Indeed, the major-domo could not have asked for a better position in a better profession.

Lind then resumed his review, moving on to the next decoration - a steel rapier, hung on a mantle. It had been gifted to Daelon by his uncle in the final days of his training. I can recall how deftly the blade moved in the master's young hands, and did it move fast. Cleaving its path through the air as it decapitated a number of straw mannequins in one horizontal slash. Indeed, the viscount was never short of an expert swordsman. Until he met his wife. Orina was an undeniably likeable lady, but she had unfortunately overtaken her husband for his own good. The viscount was at, a conservative estimate, a score of twelvemonths younger than Lind. The objective eye, however, would judge otherwise.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Shrugging the thought off, Lind carried on to the next piece - a family portrait, depicting the entire Ubissad family. Holding to it was a grim finality, due to the fact that nearly all in this picture had died. They had lost their battle against many a disease, ranging from the bubonic plague to even rabies. No amount of coin, nor magic for that matter, and as evinced by the loss, could save these nobles. They had simply been in a battle they had had already lost; as it well seemed that the gods had lain their curse upon this cohort - and the realization only stung the major-domo's heart. Only the viscount remained, and one distant relative residing someplace in Corone. If he lived still, that is. The major-domo then found himself venturing into disturbing territory, thinking that, one day, he might as well live to attend Daelon's inevitable sepelture—

The door opened. Lind straightened in his seat, then rose as he saw the viscount. Who nodded his greetings as he moved to his desk, the door closing behind him. The major-domo stepped forward, pausing before the now-occupied work chair. "Greetings, Master Daelon." The words had inexplicably come out strained, but if the viscount had noticed he showed no signs.

"Greetings, Lind." He seemed to be distracted with something on the worktop, which Lind could not discern, then lifted his gaze to settle on the major-domo. "I apologize. I did not intend to keep you this long. Alas. I was preoccupied with certain… matters."

"No apologies needed, sir. I would be obliged to wait the demon wars for you if I could." That was a lie and both knew it. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes." Daelon produced a piece of writing paper from a drawer, then an ink well and a quill. "How did the visit go? Did you tell them you were there on my behalf, that I couldn't make it?"

"I did indeed, sir. A bit slow in their understanding, yet they accepted the apology nonetheless. Strange folk, but pleasant." The major-domo silently watched as Daelon brought the quill to the paper. "I trust, sir, that there shall be no more expeditions of similar sorts."

"'Expeditions,'" the viscount replied mockingly, his voice muffled as it bounced off the tabletop. "No Lind, don't fret, there shall be no more 'expeditions' like that again," he laughed softly. "I admit, I was worried you might have been lost on the way. You were away for what, two weeks?"

"One week actually." Lind considered mentioning the half-night, but said nothing more.

Daelon studied him for a moment, then resumed with the piece. "And how fares the assistant I sent with you? Did the lad learn much?"

"I'm afraid he is dead, sir."

The viscount halted, grimacing as his head shot up. "He is what!?"

Lind barely managed under that boring gaze. "He is dead - got killed, sir. The wolves, they ambushed us at night - in the midst of our camp, sir!" Lind's face and tone were fraught with dismay. He then broke his gaze with the viscount and, as if to himself, muttered: "I could have done nothing for him."

[Fez_The_Kid]

Daelon was silent for a long moment, then Lind sensed his attention shift back to the paper. The viscount said nothing till he was done, depositing the document in a cylindrical case he held listlessly. "Ryder!" he called, then sat back in his seat, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "When?" he questioned, his voice suddenly impassive.

"On our way back," Lind sighed. He'd started to regret revealing the truth. Alas. For he then realized the viscount would sooner or later note that the attendant was missing, and turn to the major-domo first and foremost for questioning; who concluded that, in the end, the former choice was ever the wiser one. "It was almost dawn then. Master Daelon, I persuaded a passerby lot of travelers to accompany me back to the campsite. Ah, how it was a foolish choice…" Lind slowly shook his head, for indeed, the scene he had come upon would engrave itself in his mind for the rest of his days. A short while later he continued, "We buried what we could, sir, deep enough as to not allow any scavengers close."

Ryder appeared at the entrance, nodding at both as he left the door ajar behind him. "Sir?"

"Take this letter," the viscount said, eyes still on Lind, "send someone with it to Lord Raeder. The earl must receive it as soon as possible. Make haste, will you?"

The viscount waited till his attendant left, then with slitted eyes asked, "And the travelers?"

Lind glanced at Daelon. "They refused all forms of payment, sir. I could do nothing but express my gratitude till they were on their own way."

Daelon's voice softened. "Honorable."

"Yes, sir."

They were silent for a short while, then Daelon knelt in his chair behind the desk, to reappear with a pair of glasses and a wine bottle. He removed the cork, filling both glasses before gesturing the major-domo toward either of the guest chairs.

Lind hesitated.

Daelon glanced at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir," Lind muttered, his eyes blinking as he stiffly took a seat. He waited for the viscount, then reached for his glass. The wine was red, and brimming.

Daelon noticed the major-domo's constraint, but said nothing of it. "We drink to that youth's honor."

The major-domo leaned in and whispered, "Believe his name was Azaranth, sir."

Daelon retracted the glass from his lips, then reiterated, "We drink to Azaranth's honor."

Lind half-smiled, silently thinking for a moment. "And to his health in the afterlife, sir."

[Fez_The_Kid]

Daelon sat alone in his study, sprawled over the tabletop. His slumber had been deep, but about early morning he awoke to a blossoming pain behind his eye. And it seemed, as evinced by its persistence, that it would not let up anytime soon; he had even considered retiring into his bedchamber, but it had had been too early, and awakening Orina was not a venture he would risk taking. She would come to him later that day, he well knew.

He then realized that, while Lind had his glass of wine and was on his way, he himself had quaffed a few more - till he was more than a bit sozzled. Indeed, over-drinking was an ill-chosen weakness that it became subconscious, and problematically so.

But then he had other, wiser routines— The modus operandi of easing one's mind, he thought to himself; morning strolls in the estate garden, alleviating all the stress build-up of the day before, for being a master of this vast house had always been a wearing responsibility. And even though he had his servants do the majority of the work, the pressure weighed on him the heaviest. Notwithstanding, he would never forget the day he inherited - no, received - authority; a distant time, yet a place no different; and how unsophisticated he was then. Fortunately, Lind was a stellar major-domo, a loyal retainer having served under Daelon and his father before him. Indeed, my old man has put this estate in good hands.

Ryder, on the other hand, had been employed for but a few months, and was very much still inept, and in turn virtually useless. He was perhaps the seventh attendant in the viscount's career. However, one thing set him apart from other, more experienced candidates— The lad knows some humor, for the gods' sake. He acknowledges his comic side, and can reveal it when the time is appropriate. That is what earned him his place, as far as I am concerned. The lad was not as efficient as those before him, but he also was not as despondent. Ryder would soon possess the experience.

Yes, time has always been the best teacher. Still in his robes from the day before, the viscount left his study and made his way toward the main entrance, beyond which lay the botanical gardens he so relished. It was sometime in the morning, as he could tell from the fine golden shafts leaking in from the hallways' shuttered windows. There were no footfalls other than his, and if there were, they came from the other side; which, he would then realize, where resided most of the house's early risers.

The viscount was then walking the flagstones that lead to his destination, a short walk that took no more than a half-dozen heartbeats.

[Fez_The_Kid]

And there he found his wife. There, sitting in a limestone bench, sewing something in her slender, long-fingered hands. Larks warbled in the treetops, a ditty of sunrise that filled the air and, by some means, warmed his heart upon seeing Orina. The birdsong seemed to amuse her, too, and for a while he could do naught but relish her joy. Seeing that lean, bonny face beam had always stirred something in his soul, and for how long he idly stood observing her he could not tell, as she had noticed him, and a heartbeat later he realized she was saying something. "—you all right? Daelon?"


The viscount blinked. "What? Oh, yes, I'm all right. No, I am ecstatic, in fact," he said gleefully as he sat beside her, bringing one arm around her waist, "to see you up and shining! Which raises the question, what're you doing out here this early?"

The redhead shrugged, a soft grin playing on her lips. "You could say I… grew bored of waking up second," she said amusingly, then a moment later shifted back to what Daelon saw was a partially sewn headband. It had been torn an few inches off the tying knot.

"Whom does this belong to?" he asked, noting its reddish color.

"Oh, this is Selwin's. Left it in Prickly's reach, and, as expected, the saucy mouser clawed it in half. I insisted I fix it for her, and I admit she refused - and tenaciously - I might add. But eventually none, of course, can defy Orina Ubissad's fury," the redhead said, chuckling.

"Fury?" Daelon laughed. "Aye, I'd call it that as well." They were quiet for a moment, then the viscount frowned. "Which reminds me - how is Prickly recovering?"

"He is doing fairly well, considering everything. The mange is a stubborn disease, after all. Thank the Sway none of us contracted it."

"Indeed, it is highly contagious as it is. So, how long before you are—"

Daelon frowned as Orina's face suddenly shifted into a wince, looking down at her hand to see that she had pricked herself. Pinching his lips, the viscount fumbled through his coat and came out with a fresh napkin, wrapped it about the redhead's finger. "The headband can wait."

The consort sighed. "I suppose it can."

Daelon made to rise, "Come, let's check on the horses. Ironically, I've grown tired of sitting here," he held her by her hand as she rose in his wake. He lead her through a hedge maze, then came upon a few outbuildings and a railed collar. A half-dozen horses ambled within the space, turning to level their inexpressive, strangely calming gaze on them. The viscount reached the fencing, Orina two paces behind him.

A sable-hued stallion emerged from the cluster, approaching at a lazy walk as it extended its head for him to pat. "Ah, Quinton, if only you knew how much I am sorry for not riding you this long," he muttered, scritching the base of the beast's tapered ears. This steed had been Daelon's for as far as he could remember, and its loyalty showed in its refusal for anyone but him to even saddle it. He turned, gestured for Orina to approach.

She slowly shook her head. "No, Daelon, he doesn't like me and you know it."
"Rubbish, and whoever said that is an idiot and you know it." Daelon half-turned, a faint frow marring his brows. "Now come, he awaits you."

The redhead hesitated, approached quietly. She eyed her husband, who gave her a firm nod, then gathered her trailing robes and raised a hand. She reached for the beast's ear.

Then recoiled at a familiar-sounded holler, coming from behind them. Daelon whirled to see Ryder, standing at the mouth of the maze, sheathed in a layer of sweat. "Master! You need to see this!"

[Fez_The_Kid]

Trouble was brewing.

As one, the roar of an army of angered, oppressed citizens thundered across the streets, the epitomical bellow of wrath itself. The masses were a writhing serpent slithering its way up Raeder Street - the end of which was the stone castle of the ruler and namesake. The people of Ursten had undeniably grown aggrieved under the earl's oppressive laws, and as they marched forth in calculated, purposeful steps, they all sought but one objective: the Raeder's expulsion - or better yet, his head on a pike.

Columns of smoke rose in irregular intervals across the entire train of rebels, a grim aspect to the burgeoning revolt that augured ruthless carnage. The eastern horizon brightened by the minute, a golden-colored sun rising to warm the dirt-covered, gaunt faces that filled the street like a judging eye. The entirety of Ursten seemed to converge at the street, seemingly endless droves of people jogging up from the side-streets to join the locomotion. Two-thirds of the main street were now covered in masses, and judging from their pace, it would be at least four bells before the frontline reached the castle gates. Regardless, If Raeder had an answer to this, he was slow with its coming.

Ever since he had taken the seat of power and ratified his personal agenda of killing all those who opposed him and his ways, Daelon had seen this coming. The citizens of Ursten were ever a fierce people, not known for their clemency, and, as evinced by this scene, they would answer to their oppressor by naught more than demanding blood. The earl, Daelon considered, must have already assembled a company of his guards to reciprocate; yet he would strike only when the time was right. And albeit he had ever been committed in executing his defiers, the man's sanity had not been stretched nearly thin enough to kill anything but all those he ruled.

Genocide would not be in Raeder's interest. Who also was not the only one among those the majority now openly resented, but indeed, that included the city's entire aristocracy; and for that sole reason, he would have to act in answer to this.

[Fez_The_Kid]

Suddenly weary, Daelon stepped back from the railing of his estate's rooftop. He realized that he had forgotten to breathe, the air stingy and ragged as it filled his lungs once again. Face framed in runnels of sweat, the viscount twisted and faced his wife and attendant. "Orina. Go inside, stay there. Don't come out till I've returned."

"Returned? Where are you going?" she asked hastily.

The viscount exhaled slowly. "Orina, we've no time to argue - this is urgent," he said, tone fevered with impatience. A moment later his voice softened. "Please..."

The redhead frowned as she stepped close and gave him a light kiss on the his lips. She leaned in even as he made to draw her away, whispered in his ear: "Be safe, my love."

He gave a firm node, gaze silently following her as she disappeared down the spiralling staircase to the lower level, which then swung and held Ryder's equally restless face. "Ryder, I want five guards at the main entrance. When you're done, gather the rest and send me Lind. Go."

A heartbeat later the viscount was alone. He slouched back, leaning on the dusty waist-high railing, his back to the ever-progressing train. There was no sound coming from it, for it was far enough to be beyond earshot, but somehow he could still hear that reverberating rumble of hundreds of people's footfall, their march through the city's symbolic street to be a marked event in the city's entire history. He could only dread the few, perhaps several groups who would find the motivation in this and see each aristocrat as an enemy. Indeed, his father had been right about being one— For it seemsit is a curse than a blessing. Ah, and these thoughts come to me again: What if I hadn't been born into this family… if, perhaps, I was but a simple child in a simple home, aspiring to be a traveling merchant once I was old enough. Even thinking about it seems… simpler.

In the end, however, as 'simple' as it seemed, surely it was far from easy. If anything of the viscount's status had come close to shaming him - it was that he had not earned his wealth, unlike the weary souls, some of whom had no wealth to begin with, who roared down that street in the name of justice. If anything, they had all the right to revolt under the earl's - no, the aristocrats' - rule; their actions were justified. By targeting him, however, they would target his wife - his family. He and Orina had waited all these years, and at last, it would be but a few months' time… And losing his wife, and in turn his first child - even thinking about the possibility was wearing - would scar him for the rest of his days.

Or hours, provided we don't survive this morning.

[Fez_The_Kid]

The rebels would sooner or later grow bold, even in the face of heavily armored and armed guards, and stock up on improvised weapons; pitchforks, shovels and pickaxes would be issued aplenty. It was only a matter of time.

Back still to the scene, Daelon switched his attention to the virtually empty corral. The horses had been probably lead back to their stables. Excepting Quinton, which is what confused the viscount as the beast stood unchaperoned in the center of the area. He would have to check on him when time permitted.

The viscount flicked his gaze to the stairs, where now stood Lind's hunched figure. Daelon approached, wiping at his brow once again. He studied the major-domo for a moment, his lips pinching. The man was dog-tired.

"You wanted me, sir?" he asked, voice toneless.

"I want you to stay with Orina till I'm back. Protect her no matter what, Lind. No matter what." Reassured by a fervent nod, Daelon moved toward the staircase, then paused at the first step and turned. "Also, check on Quinton when you can. See why he isn't in the stables with the rest of the horses."

"I'll see to it. Master, can I ask what do you plan on doing, sir?"

"I need to speak with the earl immediately. Unchecked, I fear his answer to a revolt will not be a promising one. I sense a massacre coming, Lind. Do you understand? Raeder needs to be restrained lest he start killing his own people."

The major-domo sighed slowly, gritting his teeth as his gaze averted to the floor. Then he simply nodded. "Be safe, sir. I do not know what I would do if you ever came to any harm, Sway forbid."

"Aye." The viscount descended the steps. "And remember, Lind - no matter what."

[Fez_The_Kid]

Torchlights suspended on sconces lit the gloomy stone hallway in a warm, fiery color. A thin silk-threaded carpet extended from the viscount's position at the hallway's entrance to its invisible end, covered behind a bend of wall. On one side was an interspersed array of fully armored mannequins, each one wielding a different weapon; a foreboding quality that chilled Daelon at the spot. He had managed to reach the castle without any trouble, yet his men were forced to stay outside. If he would see any of them again was a mystery in itself.

Ryder edged into view beside him, fronting who would be the earl's own attendant. The man nodded at the viscount and gestured for him to follow, then ambled ahead and disappeared behind the bend.

Daelon spared Ryder a glance and found the young man staring at him. He studied him for a moment, then jerked a firm nod before slipping ahead in the other attendant's wake. They came to a huge wooden door with an arch, which the man knocked on twice, then nudged it open with surprisingly minimal effort. Dust seeped from the thin space between the woodwork and frame. The man then edged forward and paused just beyond the entrance.

"Lord," they heard the man, "it is Viscount Daelon." A moment later, "Yes, sir," he turned and side-stepped, waved for him to approach. Only Daelon entered, the door creaking shut behind him.

Standing stock-still before one lancet window, as if basking in the mid-morning sunlight, was Raeder, a tall, lean and gray-haired figure. The revolt, Daelon then realized, was fully in his view. Behind the earl was the remaining space in the chamber reminiscent of the viscount's own study, outmatched by this one in space and quality both. The viscount approached, halted three paces from beside the earl, whose cold gaze stayed fixed on the ever-nearing column of rebels.

"These people were my responsibility," he muttered. "Not fate, but they—" one slender finger jabbed toward the scene beyond the viscount's field of vision— "they are what bequeathed me my leadership." He turned, glared at the viscount with widened eyes. "My legacy…"

[Fez_The_Kid]

Daelon felt a chill grip his backbone, said nothing.

Raeder's expression seemed to ease, his voice softening - if only slightly. "Tell me, Daelon, do you believe in destiny?"

The viscount was quiet for a long moment, then he considered, "Perhaps I do." There was a brief pause. "Do you, Lord?"

The earl fixed his attention on the column once more. "No."

Whatever emotion that ran ablaze within that man was subtle, for Daelon could not discern it. But it definitely doesn't bode well. "Lord, if you do not mind my asking—"
"Depends on what it is you're asking."

"—I wish to know what you plan on doing with them. If they reach here…"

"Daelon, I said they were my responsibility. Do you realize what they have done by marching up this street, daring to even threat my life? They are now but a liability… a cancer." He turned from the window, making for his desk. "One that I am obliged to scour clean from my city."

"But Lord, these people," Daelon said hastily, "there are at least a thousand out there. You cannot just kill them!"

Raeder sat in his chair, leaning forward. "I am the ruler. I do whatever I want."

"Listen to reason! These are innocent people, they have not done aught—"

"I am the Earl of Ursten!" he barked, his shrieking voice an agonizing ring in the viscount's ears. Raeder's face darkened, when he muttered, "Regardless… I have decided to give these people a chance. One. Chance. You, Daelon, shall stand before the very frontline. Yes, you. And you shall persuade them to turn, lest I spare no-one."

"Lord…"

"I have spoken. I do not want to see you again, Viscount. If you even dare elect to show your face here… I'll make you know fear. Merrerid!"

Daelon fought a shudder, clenched his jaws. He heard the heavy doors squeal open behind him.

"See to that the viscount is escorted outside."

[Philomel]

Name of Thread:
Night of Quietus (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?31354-Night-of-Quietus)
Judgement Type:
No Judgement

Fez the Kid (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?17497-Fez_The_Kid) receives:
2860 EXP
and
145 GP


These rewards include the special Althanas day rewards!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards added!