Jorin sat at his worn desk, fuming at the utter lack of decent amenities he’d been forced to deal with. He was second in command of Norport’s security forces, soon to be first once the competition was out of the way, and yet he lived in absolutely squalid conditions. He’d known servants that had been afforded more luxuriant working spaces than he’d been given. He would make sure this was the last time he ever had to live or work in such a wretched place.
There came an unexpected knock upon the heavy wooden door. Even it was too ugly for his liking. “Enter!” he yelled angrily.
A younger guard walked in and crisply saluted. “I have a message for you sir. It’s from councilman Perrin.”
Jorin rolled his eyes and walked over to the guard, snatching the letter from the man’s hand. Maybe it was all the wine he’d drunk recently, but he couldn’t remember the man's name. It didn’t really matter. He tried not to waste his time on people that weren’t important or useful in any way.
He gave a half-hearted wave to the guard, “Have my horse readied and waiting in the courtyard. Dismissed.”
“Well, sir, there’s another matter.” he stammered, eager to stay on his commanding officer's good side.
The subcommander turned back around, ready to bite the young man's head off. “If there’s some other reason for you to be here, it’d better be a damn good one. I’m in no mood to suffer fools at the moment.”
The guardsman cleared his throat, visibly nervous. “Well sir, there’s another letter here for Mistress Benard and I wasn’t sure what to do with it since the captain was away.”
Jorin raised an eyebrow at the possibilities. “A tragedy and a shame what happened to her. Give it to me and I’ll see that it is taken care of.”
The guard pulled the envelope from a pouch at his side and handed it to him. Jorin hurriedly took it and then pushed the man out without the formality of dismissing him again. A hard slam of the chamber door conveyed the sentiment as well as words.
“Odd,” he mumbled to himself, taking a seat upon the hard wooden chair at the desk. It was a plain paper envelope, sealed with yellowish beeswax, featuring only the words “Angela Benard” written on the front in ornate script. It wasn’t anything too special amongst his circle, but for a simple kitchen woman who never travelled outside the city, it was much too lavish.
Without another moment of hesitation he broke open the seal and read the missive.
Hope all is well there. I Spent some time with my sister before making my way to Drakkenoir to inquire about your mystery. I’ll be the first to admit that I was wrong for ever doubting you on it. Turns out that noblewoman that disappeared under such mysterious circumstances was Lydia Korvek. She wasn’t highly influential by wealth standards, but they said her beauty was something out of legend. Her father arranged a marriage to Alric’s son, which she vehemently opposed. Then one night, nearly two decades ago, she disappeared suddenly without a trace. I tracked down a house servant who claimed to be a witness to the events of that night and she claims that she’d seen a small group of dark elves taking the young woman. The investigators dismissed her claims as foolish imaginations by an old woman seeking attention. I asked her to describe Lydia and the two features that stood out more than anything, raven black hair as dark as night and the deepest ice blue eyes you had ever seen. I’m no scholar, but I’d say that seems to be the likely origin of your girl. The trail ran cold after that, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know if there’s anything more.
Lorik Hale
“Well, that is certainly something,” he whispered to himself. “Seems that Landon and his serving wench were looking into the elf girl’s history.”
He tapped the paper against the scratched up wood a few times, thinking of ways he could use that information to his advantage. In this world, even the mightiest of warriors could be felled with the right words.
Nothing came to mind immediately so he tossed the letter and envelope into a drawer and then looked at the summons his father had sent. It was a simple and hastily scrawled out message demanding he speak with him at once. It was obviously written by a servant in a hurry and lacking any sort of details. Jorin sneered at it, feeling a lack of sincerity he should have been used to by now. He tossed it into the fireplace and stormed outside.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
His horse was there waiting for him and he wasted no time making his way to the Judicial hall, a large and ornate building nestled among Norports finest establishments. It was here among its polished red wood furniture and opulent courtrooms that the five judicial councilors helped to run the city and hear the most popular and scandalous of cases. Had Galen survived, they’d no doubt be preparing his trial to be held here at this very moment.
He pushed his way past the posted guards without even speaking with them. They weren’t his men, but they knew him well enough regardless. It always made him feel somewhat better to throw his weight around when he could. It wasn’t always easy being a bastard son, and these moments eased that insulting sting he constantly dealt with.
He burst into the councilman’s office without the courtesy of knocking first. His father was leaning back in a long padded chair while two topless women rubbed the elder man’s swollen feet. Neither of them looked pleased at their task, but Elnar appeared to be ecstatic at the treatment he was receiving. It wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary and rather tame compared to some of the things he’d seen the councilman get involved in.
“You wanted to see me father,” Jorin said rather slyly. He knew how to spoil his old man’s finer moments.
Elnar kicked the women away from him with a shout. “Both of you get out!” he yelled and then pointed a fat finger at Jorin. “How many times have I told you to watch your tongue in public, boy.”
The women raised their dresses back to a modest level and hurried from the room. Jorin smiled as they hurriedly escaped, detecting a hint of relief at their unexpected good fortune. His father would be in a foul mood now though, but that wasn’t always such a bad thing. He did occasionally enjoy seeing the old man riled up from time to time.
Jorin walked to the small bar area and poured himself a cup of wine. “I thought you were beginning to like me enough to finally claim me as your son.”
The old man frowned at him. “I gave you ample opportunity because of it, and I can take it from you just as well. You best remember your place. Now bring me that wine.”
He obviously meant the now full cup, but Jorin just shrugged and handed off the bottle instead. If he wanted wine, let him pour it himself. He was no one's servant. His mother may have been at one point, until Elnar drunkenly had his way with her one night and put her with child. He’s claimed to lament that day ever since, but yet relies on him in ways he wouldn’t trust his legitimate children for.
Elnar grumbled something under his breath and poured the wine into his own cup. “I called you here boy, because I’ve just gotten word that Rowan will be back here in approximately ten days time. His wife bore him a son and she’ll be staying in Agrun until the spring comes.”
Jorin took a nearby seat. “So it’s time then?”
He nodded. “It’s time. We’ve been priming these people for a full blown riot for some time and they’re ready to blow. He thinks he’ll just ride in here and be the saviour, and that’s where he’s wrong. You best be ready to handle your part though, because we’ll only have one chance at this and we’ll all hang if you fail.”
The younger man looked into his wine cup and sloshed it around for a moment before setting it on a nearby table. He was already starting to get a sour taste in his mouth. “And afterwards, what about me? Where do I fit into your new world order?”
Elnar frowned. “You can be captain of the city guard. Did you expect more?”
Jorin stood up and began to pace the room. “I expected to not have to slave away in that filthy barracks while my father is lord of Andesty.”
He looked at his son and narrowed his eyes angrily. “You do as you’re told, boy, and maybe we’ll see afterwards. Don’t think about backing out now because we’re too deep into this.”
He knew his father well enough by now to know what those words meant. “I won’t fail. I’ll see myself out.”
Jorin turned to step out and heard his father yell out after him. “You best not. Tell them whores to get back in here and finish their job.”
He shook his head and headed out of the building back to the barracks. Along the way he passed the two women but didn’t bother saying a word to them. He was too preoccupied at the moment with thoughts of their planned scheme to even bother. It was a lofty goal, and extremely risky, and it might well be lucrative enough to set him up for an easy life as a nobleman. His name would actually mean something then.
By the time he got back, Landon, the elf, and the crippled quartermaster had only just arrived themselves. He looked over at her and thought about the letter he’d read. They said her mother’s beauty was legendary, and to be honest, she wasn’t too bad looking either. That dark elf blood gave her a fiery temper that he liked as well. Maybe he’d find a use for her after it was all settled and the new establishment was in place.
She glanced over at him, the sadness she felt over the loss of a dear friend still plainly visible on her face. He almost, for a very brief moment, felt pity for the young woman. Life was hard and could be very cruel. It was a lesson he’d been taught growing up and one that she’d have to learn herself one day. The sooner the better.
He brought his horse into the stable and passed it off to the stablehand. There was much more work to be done still, many more plans to make, and precious little time to waste.