‘The Marshal of the East…’ Duchess Dalia thought while bathing within her large, marble bath. Fresh water poured in from the spouts within the statues, three which were warm, and the last, the one furthest away from the Duchess, hot, allowing the steam to rise up and around, before dissipating right before the Duchess.
Several attendants worked her body, while guards remained nearby, their eyes like hawks as they watched the attendants work. One brought over a fresh platter of soaps, which had been freshly unpacked for the Duchess, who perused over the dozens of bars, before she picked a fresh bar which smelt of mint, dismissing the remaining soaps, the servants to dispense the items among themselves.
Of course, the head servants claimed their own first before some were gifted to her favourite servants, while the last few were handed down on a rotation so that every servant had a bar of soap to last them until the next time they were within the rotation.
The Duchess’ thoughts fell back to the Marshal and the situation. She had sent her own knight, the Marshal of East Port, but when she had heard about the Marshal of the East leading the group, she had recalled her Marshal swiftly.
‘Why have you sent your Marshal, my dear Marquise?” the Duchess thought as the hands lathered across her skin, not only bathing her, but dealing with the tension and stress of the day. She thought of Lord Benjamin Gravesea, one of the very few within East Aldland who could have matched the previous Knight of the East, who had died mysteriously, their body lost to the unknown.
‘Stone Sword would have been a pleasant sight for the business,’ the Duchess thought, thinking of the connection between the two. Apparently they had spoken during the tournament, something the Duchess had taken into consideration when choosing who to send to patrol the lands towards Life River, completely coincidentally, certainly not to see what the Marquise was up to, or to see what issue she had with the business which was going to provide the Duchess with grand weapons.
‘To risk Stone Sword against Lord Gravesea…’ The cost was far too much for the Duchess to bear. She would hope that the group would survive, and that Lord Gravesea would show some mercy to the business.
She closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the bath to soothe her. ‘The business will lose much of its manpower. Shall I send some of my own men to replace the Enchanter’s workers?’
The Duchess let out a soft sigh, her lips forming a small smile. Though the Marquise held the Marshal of the East, she had decided to cause bother for the Enchanter. Once the Enchanter learnt of the Marquise’s foolishness, a crack would form, a crack she would need to deepen, before she would offer to fill it for the Enchanter while pushing away the Marquise.
Then her thoughts wandered.
‘Surely, you will know your place when dealing with Lord Benjamin, Executive?’
The Duchess hoped Adam would not pick a fight with the Marshal of the East, for that would make it difficult for her to deal with politically.
Surely he couldn’t be that stupid?
“Good evening, Lor-,” Adam began, only to be cut off by the Lord.
“Hand over the boy, and I will show you the mercy of a quick death, Executive Adam,” the Lord said, his voice stern, his eyes almost bored of the situation.
Adam tilted his head slightly, feeling his neck pulse slightly. “What fine mercy which has been offered by the Marquise.”
“No,” Lord Gravesea replied, his eyes glued to the young man in puthral, who had created quite the storm. “The Marquise only wished for you to be branded for your crimes, but it is my mercy which will allow you to die with honour. It is the mercy I have granted to you as a boy who knew when to step back for his betters within the tournament.”
Adam’s face formed a wider smile, the annoyance of speaking to nobles quickly filling him. He could feel it, the itch within him. The heat of noonval had battered him all day, and though he had cooled himself with his magic, it had still been annoying. ‘Of all the months they wanted to bother me, it just had to be in noonval…’
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“Lord Benjamin Gravesea,” Vonda called, glad Adam had kept quiet. “The children here are under the-,”
“It is out of my respect for your order that I shall only kill the boy who has offended the Marquise,” the Lord interrupted, his eyes still not moving from Adam, watching him squirm.
“Will you forfeit your soul when Mother Soza watches over us?”
“…” The Marshal fell quiet for a moment, his eyes then slowly passing over towards Vonda, who stood at Adam’s left. “Since you have spoken for the boy, I will only take his tongue for his impudence.”
Vonda was certain the Lord meant Adam when he spoke of the boy. “What of the child?”
“The child will be taken to the Marquise, for he belongs to Lady Amelia Tiderock, who has bestowed the honour of decency onto the child.”
Adam inhaled deeply, but he heard Vonda’s voice call for him. He turned to face her, but before they could speak, the Marshal drew his blade.
“Come for your punishment, and let us be done with this,” the Marshal stated, revealing the deep blue blade, the late evening sun gleaming across it, revealing faint runes.
Vasera cackled. “You should be so full of yourself as the Marshal of the East!” The brass scaled drakken, who possessed dragon blood, grinned wide. “Yes. That is how you should act.”
“Golden Savage. Is it your influence which has created such inconvenience?”
“We were merely passing by when we met on the road,” Vasera replied, her grin still wild. “I have heard the situation, and I cannot say I am surprised. Who does not know the perfidious nature of Aldishmen? You see what does not belong to you and you wish to claim it as your own.”
“Your tongue is vicious, but do not say I have not shown you mercy, for I will allow you to leave with your tongue intact,” the Marshal stated, pointing his blade towards her. “Leave now while I offer you your life.”
“The gold has been paid,” Vasera replied, baring her fangs. “If I leave now, they shall say I have no respect for the noble metal, or worse…” Vasera’s eyes flashed with a wicked playfulness. “Perhaps they shall call me Aldish?” Smoke began to sway from between her teeth, as both anger and delight filled her face.
“Lord Benjamin Gravesea,” Dunes called, stepping forward cautiously. “It is an honour to meet you.”
“You must be members of the Order of Black Mountain,” the Marshal stated, eyeing up the group. “I thought I could smell your ilk among the irksome herd.”
Dunes expected the outright hostility, especially after what their Priest Commander had done to the Marshal of the East. “I have heard many stories from the Priest Commander of your exploits.”
“Such as I care for your words, and though it may be minuscule, whatever words you speak may be spoken once the matter has been resolved. You have thought long enough, ill breed, and my patience, though infinite for honourable folk, wears thin when it comes to whining instigators.”
Adam undid his visor to look towards Vonda, his eyes wide open, allowing her to understand that he was at his wits end, and whatever words of advice she had, she should be speaking them swiftly. The fellow on Adam’s right stepped forward.
“Think of your children, Adam,” Vonda said, causing Adam to freeze in place, gritting his teeth. “Larot will wish for you to speak the tale of when you return. There is no need to risk your life here. Allow me to speak with the Marshal, I am certain I can convince the Marshal to reach a compromise.”
Adam narrowed his eyes, before motioning with his head, dropping his visor, and he placed his hand over strong shield.
“You are Lord-,” Jurot began, before being cut off.
“Your silence is appreciat-,” the Marshal began, though Jurot continued, completing his full name. “You should learn t-,”
“My name is Jurot,” Jurot interrupted. “I do not care for the words you speak, Aldishman. I do not care for the tone you display, Aldishman. I do not care for your arrogance, Aldishman.”
The way Jurot spoke the name of the people was in the same manner one might call Adam leaf ear, but not in the playful, or even aggravating manner, but in a way which suggested he would need to soap his tongue to clean it.
“Manager Vonda has requested we do not kill you and yours,” Jurot said, his eyes then falling across the group, seeing all the warriors, many of them knights, ready and eager to fight. “Jaygak…”
“Jurot,” came the reply from the young woman.
“A thousand years ago, who was the Marshal of the East?” Jurot asked.
“Mark the Gryphon?” Jaygak replied.
“Romark the Seastorm,” Kitool corrected, fairly certain Mark the Gryphon was more active a generation or two after the Demonic Devastation.
“A thousand years ago, when the Gravesea family was not yet born from the split between its main family, the Marshal of the East cowered within Blackwater,” Jurot said, his eyes returning back to the Marshal’s blue eyes.
“Jaygak?”
“Yes?”
“While the Aldish cowered, did Jogak cower?”
“No,” Jaygak replied.
“Executive Jurot,” Vonda called, wondering why Jurot was aggravating the Marshal. There were so many knights here, each adorned in heavy armour, carrying blades, many which were magical.
“Manager Vonda,” Jurot said, feeling the magic of Mighty Roar against his arm, and the weight of Phantom at his side. “We are not in Florian lands.”
“Yes?” Vonda replied.
“The Marquise cut our adventuring short,” Jurot said, feeling his body fill with rage. “We should not return without a good story.”
“…” Vonda turned to look at the knight, who donned his helmet.
“Very well,” the Marshal of the East said, pointing his sword forward. “Let us complete our task swiftly.”