Ethan sat at the ornate committee round table, the city's wooden idol to aristocracy. Men dressed in lavish, colorful tunics sat around it, debating the merits of various policies. Papers with treasury records, farming yields, and all other manner of data were littered around the table. They were encouraged to always bring quantitative evidence to keep the debates "informed and productive."
They always turned into bar fights.
Just men shouting over each other, and at the end the loudest point wins. Ethan watched the familiar scene unfold around him. He rolled his eyes.
At least bar fights have drinks.
This was all happening inside a meeting room within Caleb's Hall, the hub of governance in Dargas. It was a luxurious space. The high ceilings were complimented with ornate wall trimmings and paintings. Large windows lined the far wall, and let sunshine flow in like a breath of midday. Ethan found himself staring out of one of those windows. He had a lot on his mind, but one question kept looming in his thoughts.
How did my morning turn into this? It was meant to be a quiet day. Slow morning. Nice breakfast. A simple happy start, but all that had been taken. Wasted, because some soulless husk decided to fill Ethan's schedule with back-to-back committee meetings since the first morning call. There was no way this could stand. Such treachery had to be dealt with. Cruelly.
"Councilor Dal, you've been awfully quiet, what's your take on all this?" One of the men called out.
The other men at the table stopped their own conversations and turned to face Ethan. He brought his gaze out of the window, turning to face the impatient crowd. He cleared his throat.
"I think—" he began, but the bells for third call cut him off. "I think we've been at this for two calls gentlemen," Ethan said. "And deciding whether to raise the tax rates in the lower districts is a highly details-oriented issue. One whose complexities might be better debated with a fresher pair of eyes."
The men in the room murmured in agreement.
"Shall we meet after next call then?" Ethan said standing up.
The other men agreed, standing and gathering their belongings off the table. Ethan sighed, gathering his own papers before looking up at a painting of the first king, Caleb I.
The portrait was of him in his younger days, with his clean shaven face, short brown hair, and proud earnest eyes. In this piece he was shown standing in a field, plow in hand and dressed in plain linens, as he always preferred to be. By all accounts he began as an average man, but when destiny called he'd seized the moment and become a legend. He won't be the only one.
"Councilor Knowles!" A voice called out from behind him. A crowd of aides rushed past and kicked in Ethan's chair. He groaned as he rubbed his leg. They hadn't even noticed. He looked back at the painting.
Did you have to deal with this nonsense too?
The men in the room began to file out into the lobby. It was a massive circular space. The entire stone room was oriented like a compass. A minimalist dial was designed on the floor at its center. To Ethan's left, the southern line pointed toward the entrance of the Hall. A grand archway set in front of an alignment of stone columns at the top of a large staircase.
The lobby led to eight meeting rooms, each named after the original heads of the founding families. They were the ones who came together some 200 years ago to fend off the Amarians and create the city. It's walls were decorated with a giant mural depicting the landscape surrounding Dargas. Vast plains were near the southern walls, showing the rolling green hills that went on for miles.
Above the doorways to the meeting rooms were portraits of their namesakes: Palti, Zaccur, Gaddiel, Avram, Maki, Sethur, Igal, and Hori. God's chosen pilgrims, looking on at the center of the room with regal and humble poise. The rooms directly east and west of the dial, the Palti and Gaddiel rooms, were a bit more lavish than the others. A nod to the exceptional work both men had done during their time.
Turning north brought the forest hugging the city's sides into view, until, at true north, stood Dargas and the Tyrlone Mountains from which it was made. Portrayed above the gleaming city was King Joshua, the second king of Dargas. A serious and driven man by all accounts, he was shown as he was during the height of his power. With a greying beard and hair, dressed in his plated leather armor, and adorned with a fur cloak. His towering form stood watch over the large doorway that led to the throne room.
As the mural ascended into the dome ceiling, it turned into a bright blue sky with white clouds easing their way across the heavens. Then, at the center of the ceiling was a large window letting sunlight flow down into the room. Underneath this natural spotlight, and at the center of the dial, was a stone statue depicting arguably the most well-known moment in the city's history. It showed God descending from the heavens, taking the form of a man with great eagle wings. He was guiding Caleb, who would later become King Caleb I, north towards Dargas, telling him to bring his people to the safe haven he had created for them.
Ethan always took a moment to admire the display. He passed it everyday but he still couldn't believe that people had actually made this.
Some sudden laughter pulled him out of his thoughts. Crowds of bright tunics and brighter egos were flowing through the lobby. Normally, it'd be hard to stand out in a room full of wealthy socialites, but one group was shining especially bright. It was a seamless performance of forced smiles and practiced sociability, held on the private stage of steel plates, short swords, and stoic faces that city guard escorts were known for. Thinking you were important enough to need an escort was arrogant enough, but needing one inside the Hall? It was a miracle they weren't choking on their own pompous airs.
"Seems like you got saved by the bell in there Councilor Dal," a voice called out to him.
Ethan rolled his eyes. And there's the worst of them all. "Councilor Knowles," Ethan said, turning to face him.
Gaddiel Knowles IV. Just the thought of that man was enough to ruin Ethan's day. He was a heavyset man with long, oily blonde hair, a full beard, and brown eyes. He was dressed in a lavish purple tunic fitted with gold embroidering— the latest trend no doubt— with some tailored dark pants and shoes. Draped over this was his Council robe, a simple black cloak with a white trim worn exclusively by Council members on official business. Around his neck was a decadent gold necklace fitted with rubies, while several rings glistened on his fingers. He was extravagance personified. As usual.
"I wouldn't say I was saved," Ethan said. "If anything, I appreciate the more experienced members of the committee taking the time to ensure my voice is heard."
"Of course, of course it's the least we could do, and please, just call me Gad. After all, there's no need for formalities or thanks between friends," Gad said. "Besides, I'm sure the others were merely concerned just as I was. You didn't seem too engaged. I know some men have minds... less suited to governance and are easily distracted, and I'd hate for you to get lost in the conversation."
Ethan smiled.
"I'm flattered. I didn't realize you were so worried about me," Ethan said, "but I meant every word I said. Talking taxation rates for two calls isn't healthy. I'm sure a man of your... stature has better things to do then be stuck in a room with men spouting hot air all day. I know Stella's bakery always runs out of their good sweets early."
Gad smiled back.
"Well, being in charge of the taxation committee means I do have to tolerate some hot air every once in a while," he said. "I'm sure when, oh, excuse me, if you're put in charge of such an important committee you'll understand that responsibility a bit more."
"Is that what those jewels are for? Showing your responsibilities? I always thought they were compensating for something."
Gad laughed at that.
"Ah yes, well I do have a weakness for extravagance." Gad said holding up his hands. "But when your family's as wealthy and influential as mine, little trinkets like these are just normal." Gad put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "I'm sure if you keep working hard maybe your grandchildren will know what that feels like."
Both of them paused. Smiling.
"Well, I'd hate for us both to end up spending our whole break in the lobby," Ethan said.
"Yes, you're right, that would be a shame."
Gad said, taking his hand off Ethan's shoulder. "We should have these little chats more often though."
"Absolutely."
Gad gave a slight bow before walking off and joining a group of guards waiting for him. Really, it was more like a small legion of them, at least twice as many as the other group. Ethan couldn't help but stare as they made their way to the throne room. He knew Gad had an ego but this was excessive, even for him. Ethan noticed a few more heads turn as Gad's group made their way through the lobby. Maybe the rumors were true then. He was getting paranoid. A moment later he was out of sight and the room returned to normal, though Ethan could still feel the heat of Gad's hand on his shoulder.
He sucked his teeth.
I can't believe that pig actually touched me.
He stormed off toward the entrance, cursing under his breath, until he smashed into someone else, and sent a heap of papers and scrolls tumbling onto the ground.
"Oh excuse me, I—" the other man said until he noticed he'd bumped into Ethan.
His face went pale.
"C-Councilor Dal," the man said, quickly standing up and bowing. "I'm so sorry, I-I should've been paying more attention."
The man dropped down onto the floor, scurrying to pick up both of their papers. Ethan looked down at him. He was young, probably no older than twenty. He had a slender frame and a disheveled mess of brown hair. His round glasses sat askew on his clean-shaven face. He had on a dark blue tunic with brown shoes and pants. The tunic's sleeves were rolled up tightly, but it still looked too big for him.
"No, please, it was my fault," Ethan said. "I'm old enough to know to look where I'm going."
Ethan was only twenty eight, but next to this kid he felt ancient. He bent down to help the boy sort out their papers.
"What's your name?" Ethan asked.
Startled, the boy looked up fixing his glasses. "D-Daniel, sir. Daniel Sando."
"And you work for the Council?"
"Yes, I'm an aide for Councilor Gray."
That old relic? Ethan thought to himself. No wonder he's so anxious.
Dargas had a very straightforward power structure, and aides sat at the very bottom. They were the worker bees of the Council. They gathered data, planned arguments, got tea. Whatever Councilors needed from them they did, and there was always more work to be done.
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The Council itself was meant to serve as a sort of check on the throne, while still being a sword for the King when needed. Sometimes, it served to moderate the King's will, to prevent hostility or unrest. Others, they merely heeded his orders, becoming the instrument of his mercy or the tool of his wrath. The families had forces and territories of their own, loaned out by the King, and a great deal of autonomy. In exchange they provided goods and services to the city, and helped keep order in their domains. Councilors had a lot of authority, but never as much as the King. They had the power to decide how to best carry out the King's orders, but they couldn't make policy on their own. That authority belonged solely to the throne.
The way Ethan remembered it was the King got to decide what to do, and the Council decided how to get it done, so long as the King agreed. He was at the top after all, and power is simple that way.
Most of the Councils work was done in committees. Meetings where Councilors, their family, and aides came together to draft policy. Aides did do a lot of tedious work there, but it's not like their life was all bad. In fact, it could be a pretty simple job depending on who you worked for.
Avram Grey was not one of those people.
He was in charge of the cultural committee. Their main job was to preserve and celebrate the culture of Dargas. Between the Church and the upper echelon's private events though, Avram's role had pretty much receded into saying yes or no to offering money to support certain events. Which just meant people coming up to his office and making the bashful old fool smile.
It's not like he wasn't respected. As the oldest member of the Council he had garnered some political muscle, but the man was going senile. He hardly did any governing anymore. The real work of his committee, like managing funds and planning the logistics for events was done by his aides, hence why he had so many. And why they'd be so stressed.
"Here you are sir," Daniel said, handing Ethan a stack of papers. "I believe these are all of yours."
Ethan looked over the papers, making sure he wasn't missing anything.
"Thank you, Daniel." Ethan said, taking the papers and standing back up. "And I hope you can forgive me for this little accident."
Daniel shot up, holding his much larger pile of scrolls and papers. His glasses were askew again. "Oh no, please sir, it was my fault. Honestly."
Ethan smiled.
"Well, so long as you're all right I should get going."
"Yes, of course! You must be busy," Daniel said. "Have a good day and good luck with the rest of your work!"
Ethan gave him a slight bow and Daniel did his best to return the gesture while managing all his papers before scurrying off into the lobby.
Ethan watched him walk away for a moment. Poor kid. Then he thought about what Daniel had said. The rest of my work, huh?
He sighed.
Anyone else on the Council would've had a million other things to do. Meeting or reviewing some committee's agenda, but not Ethan. No one else had risen to power so quickly and so young. No one else with a family as disgraced as the Dal's had ever been appointed to the Council, but a lot of things were changing. A lot of things had gone wrong.
Of the eight founding families only six remained. Plague and famine killed Sethur's in the city's early years, and from there things had only gotten worse. Gad's brother had brought down Hori's family with force, destroying their army and executing all their heirs. A culling of crushed rebellions marred the months that followed, and brought Hori's legacy to an end. It took years but Zaccur's family too wavered and collapsed, broken by a spiral of scandal, corruption, and madness that left them with nothing. Their heirs either dead or unfit to lead. All but one.
Ethan looked toward the center statue. He was the one who'd found a way forward. He was the one who'd brought his name back. His role in bringing a peaceful end to the last Amarian uprising had proved his worth. They needed him... but they'd never accept him. Even when the King had declared his trust restored, Ethan still knew better. The sour looks and cold shoulders told him one thing loud and clear. He was not like everyone else.
They had no idea how right they were.
Suddenly there was a commotion from the lobby, as something hit the floor hard. Ethan turned and saw a crowd gathered near the Palti room. They were hovering around a painting and a display of small purple flowers now lying in shambles on the floor. Ethan hadn't even noticed it before but he knew what it was. Everyone did. A memorial for Palti II.
The boisterous room quickly grew still.
There was a moment of hushed tones, of somber faces and quiet acknowledgment. A moment too long for some flowers, too good for a senile drunk, and far too short for the head of the Council. That's what made the old man's death so difficult. Even after weeks had gone by no one was sure how to handle it. Soon a couple of aides emerged from the crowd and went to work fixing the display. Conversations resumed and the crowd moved on.
The moment was over.
"Councilman Dal," a voice called out to him.
Ethan rolled his eyes. And here's the soulless husk himself.
Standing near one of the columns at the entrance, was Illias Shaw, Ethan's aide. His only aide actually, curtesy of his reputation. Illias was a bit older than Ethan at 32. He had slick, combed back hair and a thick beard around his nose and mouth that he cut short on the sides of his face. He wore a dark maroon buckled jacket with a brown vest and white shirt underneath, along with some brown pants and shoes. He had his arms crossed in front of him, holding some papers bound together in between his clasped hands.
"I see you ended your meeting early," Illias said with a smile. Well, it wasn't really a smile. It was more like a grin by normal standards. In fact, most people probably thought Illias only had one expression: serious. If you spent enough time with him though you could see the little changes in his face.
"I didn't end it early. I just suggested we take a break," Ethan said. "I love the schedule you set up for me, by the way."
"I did say this was going to be a busy first day," Illias said. "Speaking of which, Councilor Nachman sent word. He regrettably can't get away from his duties out in the plains territories, but he sent an envoy ahead to review our concerns before the meeting. You remember you have that at third call and—"
"Skip the envoy," Ethan cut in, holding up his hand as Illias tried to hand him the papers. "If Ivar wants to disrespect me he can do it to my face. Besides, I said we were taking a break Illias, and I intend on doing just that."
Illias frowned. "Showing up to a meeting covered in that stench won't help your reputation, sir."
Ethan thought about that. "You know what," he said. "You're absolutely right, so why don't you take these," he said handing Illias his papers. Then he took off his Council robe. Now he was just in a white long-sleeved tunic with black pants and boots. "Take this too, and then just bring me a change of clothes for my shirt and pants."
Illias caught Ethan's gaze as he dumped the robe into his hands. "This is just one step away from Plain's Flower."
Ethan smirked. "Now you're being dramatic." He turned and started to walk down the steps.
Illias rummaged through the pile in his hands, turning over Ethan's robe until he took something off it.
"You don't think you should keep this with you?" he said, holding up Ethan's Council pin. It was a small, silver clip shaped like an eagle's feather. It had violet gemstones as the feather's quill, that shimmered like stars against the sunlight. The robe was more like a uniform. Anyone could have one of those custom-made, but the pin was the undisputed sign of someone's status as a Councilor.
"I'm just going for a smoke Illias," Ethan said. "No one needs to know I'm on the Council."
Ethan kept walking down the stairs, leaving Illias standing by the entrance. Caleb's Hall was in the middle of the upper district and all the main roads led to it, putting it squarely in the center of city life. At any point during the day hundreds were near the Hall. There were carriages carrying merchandise for stores, families going for a stroll, and everyday people looking to get some shopping done. All around the massive stone building were cafes, jewelers, restaurants, bakeries, and all other kinds of merchants looking to profit off of the crowd. The masses moved across the stone-paved roads the way blood flows through our veins. This was truly the beating heart of Dargas.
As Ethan made his way down the stairs he noticed some ladies giving him knowing smiles as they huddled together whispering. Ethan had a full head of wavy brown hair that he combed into a side part, with piercing brown eyes and some well-groomed stubble growing along his strong jawline. He didn't like to brag, but by most accounts he was a pretty handsome guy. He turned to face the group, smiling at them, and they huddled back into their group giggling as they did. Ethan took a deep breath.
This was the life.
As he came down the last steps, Ethan turned to look at the Hall on last time, but his gaze didn’t stop there. Just beyond the dome ceiling, on the highest land in the city, were the glamorous estates of the founding families. They sat like castles atop their elevated thrones. They were everything that the average person could never have: spacious, luxurious, and exclusively for members of founding families. The guards made sure of that. Their properties stretched around the city in a half circle, and at the center was the grandest one, the Royal Villa, home of the King. And one day, it’ll be mine.
He turned and made his way down one of the streets through the crowds until—
"Look! It's him! It's Councilor Dal!" A voice cried out. Moments later a crowd suddenly emerged, almost out of thin air, and began bearing down around him. Ethan could barely get in a word in as he waded through them.
Thank you Councilman!
"Of course, I—"
I still remember the raids. It was terrible! So many would be dead if not for you!
"I appreciate that—"
You're such an inspiration! A true voice for the people!
"Yes, well—"
I'm naming my kids after you!
"Ok! Thank you everyone! Truly, I appreciate the support, but I have to be going. Important Council business. Thank you! Thank you!" He scurried out the crowd.
He walked a bit further down the road, until he arrived at an old tailor shop. He turned into an alley next to it, walked down a little further, then turned again. He was in a little back alley now with nothing but a few barrels leaning against a stone wall. This was his get-away spot. Here, there were no prying eyes that might recognize him, and the bustling crowds were just a faint murmur in the distance.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small leather bag, and placed it on one of the barrels. He untied the string around it, revealing a small pipe and a few dried leafy buds. He took out the pipe, crumbled up a bit of the leaves, sprinkled them in, then rolled up the paper just how he liked it. While he put the pipe in his mouth he reached into his other pocket and pulled out some matches. He took one, struck it against the wall, and lit the pipe. Then he took in a deep breath, holding it down, as the familiar calm washed over him. After a moment he let the smoke drift out of his mouth.
Yeah, this really was the life.
"Lemme see your hands, pretty boy," a raspy voice next to him said.
Ethan turned to see a man pointing a knife at him. He had on a shabby green vest and a short-sleeved white tunic, with brown pants and shoes. Rags were wrapped around his hands into makeshift gloves, though the scars on his fingers made it seem like they weren't working too well. He had a bandana on his head, pushing back his salt and pepper hair. That, along with a scarf pulled up to his nose, made his dark eyes the only visible part of his face. Ethan took in another breath, meeting the man's eyes as he let the smoke drift out again.
"Whoever you are, I promise you, you don't want to do this," Ethan said.
"Aw, a tough pretty boy. Ain't that cute?" the man said. "Well I promise the next time you open your mouth I'm gonna slit your throat and ruin your nice shirt. You get me?"
Ethan sighed, putting the pipe on the barrel and lifting his hands in the air.
"Atta boy," the man said. "Now empty your pockets and put everything right there on that barrel."
Ethan did as he was told, pulling out the few coins he had on him and placing them on the barrel. It probably wasn't enough to satisfy the man, but he figured it was better to listen. He liked this shirt.
Still pointing the knife at Ethan, the man side stepped over to the barrel, sifting through Ethan's things. "I see city life's made you forgetful."
Ethan raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
The man slipped Ethan's coins into his pocket. "You really don't recognize me, do you? And we used to be such good friends."
Ethan looked at him dryly. "I seriously doubt that."
"Oh no. Think back. You'll remember. Takes longer than that to get plain's dust off your clothes."
Ethan eyed the man for a moment . Then he scowled. He did know that voice. "Eli," he said. "You're a long way from home."
Eli backed away and pulled the bandana off his face, revealing a scruffy beard and a smile missing a front tooth. "Not as far as you," he said.
Ethan stayed quiet.
"I mean, look at you. Councilor Ethan Dal. Savior of the little guy and Amarians alike!"
He let out a laugh. "I had to come see it for myself."
I need him gone, Ethan thought to himself. But not before I know why he's here. "I've got nothing for you."
"Ah, good thing I didn't ask for anything," Eli said. He started walking towards Ethan.
"All that ass-kissing really has got you worked up doesn't it?" He leaned in close. "I suppose it must be hard. Playing for so many sides."
"What. Do you want?" Ethan said as he glared.
"I already told you," Eli said, pulling away from Ethan. "I came to see you do your little dance for the people." He cocked his head as he looked into Ethan's eyes and chuckled. "It's fun watching you squirm."
Then he stepped back raising his hands.
"Oh, but you don't have to worry. Your past is safe with me."
Ethan snorted. "Somehow I don't believe you."
Eli laughed at that. "Well you should." He put the knife away. "It's the truth." He met Ethan's eyes and gave a playful grin. "For now anyways." He started walking away. "But who knows maybe later I'll—"
Ethan kicked in his knee cap. Eli cried out as his leg fell into a right angle, before Ethan grabbed his head and smashed his face into one of the barrels. Eli tried to pick his head up off the blood-stained wood, but Ethan kicked him down on the ground. He kicked him two more times in the ribs before he started stomping on his face, again and again.
He kept going, blood splashing up on his shirt and face, until he heard bones crack underneath his foot. Ethan looked down at the bloody mess. He knelt down and took the coins from Eli's pocket.
"You must know me very little," Ethan said to the corpse. "If you thought you could extort me like this." He stood and went to collect his things. "Then again you never could see the big picture. You were just a thief." He took a hit from his pipe and let the smoke drift out his mouth. "And now you die like one."
A few moments later he heard Illias' voice, coming from around the corner.
"You can't hide from your meeting back here, si—" Illias began. Then he saw Eli.
He frowned.
His eyes went from Eli back up to Ethan.
"What happened?" Illias asked.
Ethan looked at him. "He tried to mug me,"he said.
Illias looked down at Eli one more time then back up to Ethan. He had a leather backpack on, which he took off and tossed next to Ethan's feet.
"Clothes and shoes are inside," Illias said.
"Go change. I'll take care of this."
Ethan took another hit from his pipe, looking up as he let the smoke drift out of his mouth.
He dumped the ash onto Eli.
Then without another word he picked up the backpack and walked to another part of the alley to change, leaving Illias looking down at Eli's body.