Rowan stepped into the sitting room of his royal palace, waving to a servant that came running quickly to his call. He took the offered wine and handed her his cloak. He watched her bow deeply before hurrying away, looking for anything but utter subservience. Were everyone trained as well as that, he imagined his life would be much easier. Easier indeed, but so much less fun.

He took note of the two robed men sitting quietly on the floor, deep in meditation. They wore deep black robes, with silver runes embroidered into the material. A large red sun was prominently displayed upon the chest and back of each one, identifying their order to the observer.

The Red Sun Collective, a monastic order offering supposed religious purity to their members. They didn’t deny entry to anyone and even counted a few wayward orcs and goblins amongst their numbers. Though the standards of entry were rather low, the requirements for ascension to the higher tiers were significantly more difficult. Those that couldn’t adapt to the rigors of the lifestyle often disappeared, never to be heard from again.

“I apologize brother Azmund, brother Talos, but there was an incident that came up suddenly.” Rowan took a long drink of the wine, savoring the flavor.

One of the men, completely bald with a full gray beard, stood slowly. “You ran out of that door like a dragon lit a fire up under your ass,” he said. “Have you considered trying meditation and prayer to control that foul temper of yours?”

Rowan let out a mirthful laugh and pointed his empty goblet to the man. “Perhaps I should consider joining your order then.”

“Our standards haven’t dropped that low yet,” he said, refilling the goblet for Rowan before filling one for himself from a nearby pitcher. “So what in damnation was the incident that sent you running like that?”

Rowan curled his lip in disgust. “That fool Sombec let his new pet escape and it pissed off the captain of the city watch. He marched into the cathedral, in the middle of their worship service, and arrested him in front of everyone.”

Azmund laughed jovially. “You hear that Talos?”

Had the man heard, he didn’t bother to acknowledge it. He sat with his eyes closed, hands in lap, deep in concentration. He wore a thin white mask over most of his face, covering masses of scar tissue underneath it. The casual observer may have mistaken him as dead if they didn’t know any better.

“Well,” Rowan continued. “I get down there to retrieve that idiot and admonish the captain, and I find out they beat him into a bloody mess.” He paused a moment for dramatic effect. “Landon says they got a confession and he seemed rather smug about it.”

Azmund whistled appreciatively. “Think that imbecile actually said something?”

Rowan shrugged and drained the remainder of his silver goblet. “I’m honestly not sure. They beat him so bad, he can’t even speak now. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if he spilled his damn guts after the first threat of pain.”

The old man looked into the pitcher, then refilled his own goblet with what was left. Rowan always found those constant little barbs as amusing rather than offensive. It was almost like having a friend that knew the real you without resorting to groveling.

“I suppose we should find out.” Azmund went over to a travel pack sitting upon the table and began to dig through it. A moment later he pulled out a book bound in a hard leather. “He’s a conjurer, but there’s a healing spell somewhere in here.”

Rowan could feel the power coming off of the book the second he saw it and knew intimately what it was. The power of magic always excited him, but it also filled him with an existential dread. He’d been more than happy to ban magic throughout his domain, but it was too much of a convenience for him to not use for his own personal gains.

He left the room, returning a short time later with four servants carrying a stretcher. Sombec moaned weakly with every step they took. “Drop him in the middle of the floor,” Rowan commanded. “Just so we are clear, I did mean it when I said drop him.”

The servants did as they were told and released their grip, dropping the large priest down upon the hard wooden floor with a loud thud. Rowan and Azmund laughed cruelly as he cried out pitifully. Talos, now at the table, didn’t bother looking up from his spell book. Upon Rowan's command to begone, the four attendants did so quickly and without so much as a second thought as to what was happening.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Rowan secured the door and came to stand by Azmund while Talos prepared for the ritual. “Shall we dine after this?”

Azmund rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I could eat, but we need to be on our way soon. I just showed up to beg for money and supplies.”

Talos shushed the men and kneeled over Sombec, placing a hand on the shallowly moving chest of the priest. He began to speak the words of power, and tiny green tendrils of smoke erupted from his skin. The bright light danced like fire over the monk and then began to be absorbed into the other man. Rowan watched in anticipation as the swelling began to subside and small cuts closed themselves up. An audible pop, accompanied but a moan of pain signaled a joint being realigned properly.

Seconds later, the glowing green flames began to fade away, leaving Sombec looking almost like his old self again. He sat up slowly and with much difficulty. He tried to speak out, but found his mouth too parched to form words. Azmund handed the near empty goblet to him, which he greedily drank down. Talos stood and went to put his precious book back into the pack.

When he’d finally gained enough of his composure back, he looked to the men in the room. He eyed the monks warily. “What are you doing here?”

Azmund chuckled at the question. “We just happened to be passing by. Lucky us.”

“More importantly,” Rowan interrupted, “what did you tell Landon?” He got right into Sombec’s face, smelling the sweet scent of blood still fresh on his tattered robes. “You know me, and you’ll know what I’ll do if you lie to me.”

Sombec leaned away, fear in his eyes. “I swear to you I didn’t tell him anything. They beat me half to death, but I never gave them anything.”

Rowan stared hard into the man's eyes, looking for any sign of mistruth. “So you say, and I believe you.” He walked around the man, looking down on him judgingly. “What I want to hear now, is how exactly you got yourself into this mess.”

Sombec started to rise off the ground but Rowan gently, but firmly, pressed down upon him. “It wasn’t my fault. One of my…, one of Garwins men went into her cell. She stabbed him in his good eye with a big piece of wood and escaped into the darkness.”

Azmund chuckled. “Your security is top notch, priest.” He grabbed a staff that was leaning against the wall and expertly twirled it around a few times.

Sombec glared at the monk. “The fool that let her go paid with his life, slowly and painfully. It won’t happen again.”

Rowan knelt down and gave the priest a playful little slap. He smiled and then backhanded him hard enough to nearly break the man's neck. When he was sure that the ringing in Sombec’s head had subsided enough he told him flatly. “Indeed, it won’t. You are not to touch her again.”

“But… We had a deal.” Sombec stammered. “You promised me the girl.”

“Ah, I did,” Rowan said to him. “And did I not allow you to have her? I held my end of the bargain, as I always do.”

Azmund stood beside Rowan, staring down at the pitiful man. “Were you one of mine, I’d hang you from your ankles from the tower for such a colossal mistake.” He poked him in the stomach with the end of the staff. “Perhaps a diet and some exercise might be a more grueling punishment for this one, Rowan.”

“Maybe so,” Rowan chuckled. “Though maybe I should let him get near the girl again. The thought of the captain trying to haul this one to the rafters would be entertaining to watch. I believe he’d do it too. No, he will live with his failure and be thankful I don’t end him this day.”

Sombec breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Lord Rowan, your mercy…”

Rowan cut him off mid sentence and looked to the monk. “Azmund did you not just tell me earlier that the monastery was short on funding at the moment?”

“I do believe so,” he replied.

Rowan snapped his fingers. “I believe the Church of Light has been getting a little extra from the faithful lately. Perhaps he’d be so kind as to divert some of that extra funding to the brothers and sisters of The Red Sun.”

“But…,” Sombec started, and then gave up. He knew all too well he had no friends here and no power over anything. He was getting off with a rather light sentence all things considered. “Of course. Thank you my lord for your kindness and wisdom.”

Rowan clapped his hands together and smiled. “Excellent. I’ll see about preparing dinner. Talos! Can you raise the dead?”

The masked man opened his eyes and glared at Rowan. “Necromancy?” He spit on the ground and went back to his meditations.

Rowan shrugged and started out the door. “Not much of an issue really if you do, but try not to kill him.” He laughed and exited with a wave.

Sombec stared at Azmund horrified. “What did he mean?”

Azmund did a few practice swings and stretches. “Oh. Well, the problem is that everyone saw you beaten to a bloody mess. Now if the people saw your recovery, they might get real suspicious.”

Sombec realized the meaning of the monk's words suddenly. “Well… Uh… Can’t we just claim a divine miracle.”

That got a good chuckle from Azmund. “Fine idea. I’ll ask Rowan if we should have just gone with that after dinner.”