image [https://i.imgur.com/mJJIktX.png]
CHAPTER XVII:
The Crimson Teardrop
30 Flamestar 1011,
The Age of Night
19 Days until the Night of the Moon
Late Afternoon,
Coralhaven Harbor, Arlian Province,
Fioran Empire
Before the Age of Night, Coralhaven was one of the great free cities in the Northern League. It's tall buildings were painted in soft hues of purples, blues, yellows, and rose, capped with a rich sapphire, as most cities in the former Kingdom of Arlia were, matching their national gemstone. At night the city sparkled like stained glass on the dark horizon, inviting traders and merchants in from the world over. Despite the capital of Arlia being Melicrus, it never grew to the proportions that Coralhaven did, and thus it never truly rivaled Fioranz in its grandeur. It was hopelessly cosmopolitan and libertine, and most of that reputation endured after the Fioran banner was draped over its walls. Though, as its neighbor, the Kingdom of Fiora swelled into an empire, and annexed it, new buildings inevitably were constructed as it grew. The rich blues of this heavenly water kingdom all seemed to fade to greys, blacks, and reds, all the more. Though it was now modern and possessed much of the advanced technology of its suzerain, travelers often reported "it lost it's luster".
On the evening of 30 Flamestar, 1011, there were spread out magnificent tents and plush rugs along the vista-esque shoreline. The air was thick with the aroma of feast, laid out on inviting tables. There were servants, rolling in barrels adorning the site, setting tables with urgency, barking orders at one another.
In the midst of the encampment, Belzon Grazzli stood inside a large and ornate tent, issuing orders to a group of diligent servants. He meticulously oversaw every detail, ensuring he placed every object in the correct position and every task was carried out to perfection. Despite the business surrounding him, he remained focused and determined to ensure everything was in order.
"Brother." A cold voice found his ears as Belzon turned to greet him.
"Hello, Syrio."
"It shall be a fine gala; you have outdone yourself..." Syrio said.
Belzon averted his eyes, trying to indicate nothing to him. In his chest, a pit instantly formed in his stomach, still mortified at what he had witnessed his brothers do in the catacombs with the Society of the Night's Veil.
"Yes," Belzon said. "It shall."
"And..." Syrio said, examining various effects and trinkets that littered the tables with his slender hands. "Where is... your daughter for this great occasion? Should she not be here to pay her honor to the Venrex... and toward her Uncle's ascendancy?"
Belzon's gaze shifted towards his brother, revealing the most standard Venganzi expression on his face, though it was forced. The lack of emotion in his eyes and the rigid set of his jaw gave away nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.
"Oh, she shall pay her honor, brother. "He said. "But, as you know... her wedding approaches. I... gave her a bag of money and sent her to Rajhi to purchase her heart's desire for that glorious day."
Syrio scanned Belzon's face and exhaled from his narrow, almost flat nostrils.
"Oh yes. How could I forget." He said.
There was an awkward silence. Belzon tried to ignore the tension between them by busying himself.
"Why do you allow such vulgarity, little brother?" He said. "Why do you tarnish our Grazzli name so... by allowing her to pollute our bloodline..."
Belzon turned once more.
"Pollute it further than I have, you mean?" Belzon said, finishing his thought, looking at him with determination.
Syrio was caught off guard by Belzon's self-awareness.
"Why do you hate our father so... that you turn over our line and grandchildren to the curs. You are sundering this family!"
"No, brother," Belzon interjected. "You and I both know that Sibela will never be accepted amongst venkind. In that... we are agreed,"
Belzon blinked, a rare break in his usual facade. Years of bypassing the stoic, impassive expressions typical of Venganzi had become second nature to him, yet in this moment, this flicker of this unguarded emotion, betrayed his discipline, contradicted his words, causing Syrio to fume inside his hollow heart.
"Think of her wedding as... a sending away." Said Belzon. "For the last time, you do not need to convince me. I know she would never thrive in our culture."
Belzon raised his finger in authority, pointing it at his older brother.
"But mind yourself, and do not forget, Daryusz is the Venrex's appointed heir... and when they are wed, my Sibela may be the one you will hail as Empress."
Syrio laughed, and without hesitation, opened his mouth.
"No cur shall ever sit on the throne of our empire, brother. Do you not understand? Gormar's cur is a fool and a brute, a dog on the Venrex's leash, no more,"
Belzon tried to ignore his comments, once again busying himself, dusting tomes and other trinkets that he had brought with him.
"If it is a sending away... as you say... you will find a true broodmother then?"
"Maybe." Said Belzon, attending to the work. "Maybe I will never will. Maybe I intend to die naturally, like the Lyban,"
Syrio slammed his hand on the table, causing the fine silverware to clink.
"You are the only one who is still young enough to produce an heir, Belzon! And now, for the first time in a thousand years, ven are being slain by the curs. Cease your selfishness!"
Suddenly, the large, imposing frame of another ven entered.
"What is the commotion, my brothers?"
"Oh, the usual brother..." Said Syrio, who momentarily turned his eyes toward the tent's opening before returning it to Belzon with contempt.
"We were discussing... the future of the legacy."
"I see... I see... it is a great day for legacy, is it not?" Said Galzon, almost happily, were it possible. "Today we celebrate my impending ascent to Governorship of this Arlian province... and the Venrex's return..."
Galzon handed Belzon a glass, and Syrio, and popped a bottle with strange markings, and an illustration of a swine on the front. He popped the cork and began to drain the thick, seeping red liquid into their cups.
"To our glorious future!" Galzon said, Syrio joining him immediately. Belzon clinked his glass last, and was last to sip to the cheers.
"...Oh, I rejoice." Said Belzon, concealing his nervousness.
"And... where is... your daughter?" Galzon said, abruptly.
"Belzon tells me she has gone to prepare for her wedding." Syrio quipped.
Galzon looked at both of his brothers, concealing his disdain.
"Oh... pity," the large Ven said.
"She will be at your coronation as Governor, I promise," Said Belzon.
Galzon said nothing.
Suddenly, the harbor bell rang, prompting the Grazzli brothers to make their way out of the tent.
Outside, the fanfare of the imperial heralds echoed across Coralhaven Harbor, signaling the arrival of the Venrex. Urgently, Lyban servants unrolled a red carpet along the dock, a vivid strip of color against the weathered chocolate-colored wood panels. Flanked by his imperial cohort, the Venrex's inner court Lyban servants descended from the ship first. Their appearance strove to reflect Venganzi culture was necessary. Finally, the imposing image of the great Venzio appeared, walking down the ramp with his gilded, jewel-encrusted cane. He had now entirely grey, slicked back hair, sported a goatee, and wore an impressive crown with flowing crimson and gold robes. As he slowly hovered his way down the carpet, his retinue's attempt at grandeur now overshadowed his once commanding presence. The crowd applauded but that applause died faster than usual. He was... thin... his cheeks were bony and socketed, and his eyes had grown dim.
The crowd, held in a hushed reverence, observed the procession. When it became apparent that the Venrex was not so strong, his aides supported him, their steady arms a sharp contrast to his weakened steps. His pallor, a visible sign of his waning vitality, was more pronounced as it became evident he was covering his face in make-up to conceal his true color. Many could not believe what they were seeing... particularly the Venganzi. He was now a delicate shadow of his former self, and moved with a fragile dignity that commanded a respectful silence from the onlookers.
In this moment, the guests seemed to hold its breath while pretending to go along with the occasion as if everything were fine. Their Emperor's weakened state, so openly displayed, stirred a mix of shared emotion in them.
The Grazzli brothers stood together. Belzon's thoughts were a storm, As he beheld the Venrex with a complex mix of respect, concern, and his present anxiety worsened. The Venrex and he had a rapport that went back to his youth. Venzio had always favored Belzon for his cleverness and curiosity, and had endowed him with favor at every chance he had, and Belzon felt that he truly had an ear in him.
Galzon's eyes, scanned the great Ven-lord of the Fioran Empire. The middle Grazzli brother, Syrio, maintained a mask of composure, hiding his true feelings for the spectacle. His mind preoccupied with how this affected him, their legacy, and his place within it.
The Venrex extended his frail hand to many of the nobles, for them to kiss the ring, as he continued his way into the party site and the tent of honor. Finally, he reached the Grazzlis.
"Your eminence..." said Galzon, as he led the brothers in a bow. Galzon extended a jewel-encrusted goblet to the Venrex, who took it, peered into it, and finally drank.
His eyes seemed to dilate momentarily, and his color slightly returned. It was only a sip, and he quickly passed the still quite full cup to his velvet-gloved servant.
"...Do not be bashful, your excellency, drink more!"
Venzio pushed it away.
"No, I've had my fill of... ephemeral pleasures." The Venrex replied.
"Yes... of course... I trust your journey was fruitful." Said Galzon, fumbling over his words, trying to quickly remedy the offense.
Venzio looked at him with his weakened eyes, but said nothing. He turned instead to Belzon.
"Belzon, still clinging to the visage of health, I see." He said. "You look well."
Belzon bowed, and kissed the Venrex's ring.
"And... where is the lady Sibela..."
Galzon and Syrio both nodded.
"Oh yes... our beautiful niece is away at this time." Said Galzon. "Preparing for... the wedding."
Venzio looked at Galzon again, this time acknowledging him more.
"Well, I trust she is as brimming with beauty... as ever..." He said, curling a devilish smile.
"Let me recline now, I have been at sea for over a month." Venzio said, making his way past the ven toward the festivities along the beach.
Hours passed, and the celebration continued under the night sky. The Venrex, now reclined in his place of honor, observed the gala with a distant gaze. The feast was filled with raw meats of various kinds, still dripping with blood, but the Venrex touched not a single haunch or drank beyond the sip that Galzon gave him as he first arrived. Belzon, navigating through the crowd, felt the weight of the Venrex's strange demeanor and Galzon's scrutinizing eyes. As the evening wore on, whispers and glances were exchanged among the nobles, each speculating on the future of the empire under the Venrex's ostensibly waning health.
Venzio didn't move very much after he sat down. When there was an opportune break, Belzon approached Venzio's side and knelt by his pointed ears.
"My Venrex... if I may have a word..."
"What is it?" Venzio barked, his voice betraying the weariness of his long life.
"Lord... I... have come to discover something dreadful, right under our noses."
Venzio traced Belzon's face with his own lifeless eyes, a hint of the ancient spirit lurking within.
"And?" Venzio continued sharply, the weight of millennia shaping his every word.
"Well... you see... it is my brothers, O great one." Belzon continued, dropping his Venganzi decorum. "They are part of an... extremist cult... This... Society of the Night's Veil."
Venzio stroked his long, grey goatee with a slender hand, his nails finely filed.
"Ah, so the shadows have finally danced before you," He said, his voice even and unreadable.
"You... know of them, my lord?" Belzon inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
Venzio glared at Belzon, a flicker of intrigue in his ancient eyes.
"Do you believe you have uncovered a truth unknown to one who has traversed the centuries, Belzon?" He said, his words slow and deliberate.
"No, absolutely not!" Said Belzon quickly. "I just... well..."
He kneeled closer, his voice a whisper.
"But they are... conducting ritual sacrifices, my Lord. Beneath the capital's streets."
Venzio slowly rolled his beady eyes toward the Governor, his gaze deep and unfathomable.
"Belzon, this Empire is a complex... machine," Said Venzio, cryptically. "All its parts, moving, or stagnant, seen and unseen, are essential."
"Your brothers' pursuits are their own. Their... passion for the oldest traditions of our people are... well... admirable," Said Venzio. "I trust you to manage your place in House Grazzli as you see fit."
Belzon hesitated, weighing his next words. "....Master, I have always championed your vision... a vision of one empire for ven, len, and chimera... one crown, but these actions... I must be frank, they threaten the stability we have built..."
Belzon looked around, his unease palpable. He continued, choosing his words carefully.
"Forgive my boldness... but as your loyal advisor, I must express my concern for the Empire... and for you, Lord."
Venzio looked to Belzon, his face a mask of veiled thoughts.
"I like you Belzon. I always have, young one. You are full of vision, gifted with wit. And your... strange heart is... interesting,"
"...Yes, Lord Venrex." Said Belzon, his voice laden with unspoken fears.
"Now, let us focus on matters of state," Venzio shifted the conversation. "Tell me, what news from the front? Any progress at all?"
Belzon, caught off guard by the change in topic, responded cautiously.
"The mountains in the east of my province remain under our control. But... I am told the front remains tense, my lord... and... The falconet still avails for little. With every tree we set ablaze... that ancient thicket seems to grow three more in its stead. I'm sure you're aware by now..."
Venzio's gaze, once vibrant and piercing, now held a tired, distant look.
"...I beg your pardon?" The Venrex said, once again turning his sharp gaze toward his advisor.
"...I believe it best to let my brother to tell you. When he is crowned as governor, the Drümmarg will be his jurisdiction."
"So be it." The Venrex commanded. "Summon him."
Belzon nodded and, with a final bow, withdrew from the Venrex's presence, his mind troubled by the great Venganzi's words and his visible decline in healthy and virility.
Belzon, still reeling from the Venrex's unsettling remarks, hastily exited the tent. The night air felt unexpectedly cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere he'd left behind. His mind raced with thoughts of Venzio's words, their hidden meanings weaving a tapestry of concern and uncertainty. As he walked, his pace quickened, each step an attempt to distance himself from the unease that clung to him like a shadow.
Outside, the Venrex's reception carried on. Laughter and music filled the air, but to Belzon, it only felt hollow, like a mask over a hideous face. Belzon glanced back once, and the tent filled him with a sense of foul unease. At this moment, Belzon finally realized, he feared the Venrex, whom he once esteemed as a patron, and a partner.
Less than half an hour later, Galzon and Syrio made their way towards the same tent. The ambiance of the celebration seemed to thin as they neared their destination, the jovial sounds of the party fading as if it anticipated their conversation. The air around the Venrex's tent felt heavy. The two ven exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgement of the gravity of the moment, before stepping into the tent to face the Venrex, who remained in his seat of honor, this strange ven-lord who has lived a millenia, this enigmatic figure radiating authority and an unfathomable depth, with wisdom beyond his years. Indeed, Venzio Darsádo would live in the annals of Venganzi society forever... for he accomplished the impossible and revived their lost empire on its historic soil.
Galzon extended both of his arms in a welcoming gesture. "My lord!" he exclaimed, attempting to break the Venrex's brooding silence. "Our brother said you had summoned us? Please... share with us your thoughts of your travels!"
The two brothers took their seats in front of the makeshift deck and the grand throne that occupied it. Syrio, with his keen observant eyes, couldn't help but notice the Venrex's condition. He leaned closer to his brother and whispered with the smallest, almost inaudible voice, "Do you see what I see, Galzon?"
Galzon, equally perceptive, nodded subtly.
"...I will not be going back," Venzio finally replied, his voice carrying an undertone of weariness. "It was fruitless."
Syrio exchanged a glance with Galzon, concern etching lines on their brows. Venzio's refusal to return to the islands for sustenance was becoming apparent, and it was taking a toll on his once-lustrous appearance.
Galzon cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. "My lord, we understand the complexities of your reign and the burdens you bear. But it pains us to see you in this state. You've always been the embodiment of our people's strength and vitality."
Galzon nodded in agreement and mustering the courage, spoke "...Indeed, my lord. I must say, however... I thought the islands would provide you with new life... but it appears to all of us that... you... have not fed during the trip..."
The great elder of house Grazzli bowed as he finished his plea.
"...You must consider replenishing yourself... Your subjects worry for you."
Venzio remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a hint of resignation. "I commend you for your family's care for your Venrex and this régime, Grazzli. My place is here. That is what the islands taught me. There are always matters here that would be best handled by my presence. As I said... I will not return to the islands.."
Galzon and Syrio exchanged glances once more.
Venzio scanned the nearby tent to ensure no one undesirable was near him.
"There was nothing there for our cause." The Venrex said. "I searched every damned sunken ruin of those accursed Sea Peoples."
Venzio leaned to his side, placing his hand on his chin, stroking his goatee.
"...Gormar had the right idea about them..."
"Maybe we should finish the job," Syrio interjected, smirking.
Venzio yawned. "Maybe."
"... The artifact evades us. There was neither the dread blade Lumeníl nor any of the artifacts from the fall of the First Empire."
Galzon looked around, lost in thought. Venzio stroked his goatee, also pensive.
"Damn it. Our dream of eternal moonlight then... it remains an enigma. What a pity... If memory serves, Szartán was hunting down the blade in the islands after repelling the Sea Peoples. He strongly believed it was there. If it was, it appears that following that conflict, the Sea Peoples took everything east, into the uncharted waters of the Sea of Divide," Galzon mused. "Or, the Lybans looted their temples,"
"What of my servant Daryusz," Venzio inquired, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "What has the report from the desert brought?"
Venzio's gaze lingered on Galzon for a brief moment before he quickly responded. "He marches, as per your directive, my lord," he said.
"Good," Venzio replied, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "And the news he brings?"
"He is nearing Nabirah to present himself to Sultan Al-Amin," Galzon informed.
"Well done," Venzio nodded. "My journey leaves only two remaining sites. The Madrasa of Magic... and... the Den of Glory and Excellence."
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
"Indeed, my lord," Galzon agreed. "It may then be relevant to share that our intelligence indicates a recent robbery at the Madrasa."
"Oh?" Venzio's interest piqued.
"Yes, though details of what was stolen remain closely guarded by the Viziers," Galzon continued.
"A significant item, no doubt," Venzio mused. "Trivialities wouldn't warrant such secrecy."
"You are wise, Lord Venzio," Galzon affirmed.
"Y-you are wise," echoed Syrio, his voice slippery.
"We will soon unveil their secrets," Galzon said with vigor. "We already control the northern coast. Should our goal continue to elude us, we will seize the Madrasa and compel the scryers to use their magic to search every corner of Etria."
"Yes, but that should not be necessary." Venzio yawned again. "What has your communication with Umbraneth revealed?"
"...Not enough..." Galzon said. "The Society exhausted all resources available to us... in the search for one with... pure will, we thought of Belzon's spawn... but... unfortunately, she has no more use to us, your eminence, we will have to turn our efforts for a sacrifice... elsewhere,"
Syrio cleared his nasally voice.
"We know that Belzon is lying about her whereabouts, but we will soon have it. We will make sure she is eliminated... along with him, but... it is a shame she no longer is of value for sacrifice... With our heightened gifts... thanks to your tutelage... we... cannot detect her soul within her,"
Venzio let out a faint chortle. "... Then you wasted your time. I could have told you that."
The two Grazzli brothers looked inquisitively.
"You cannot detect a soul, because it was already sacrificed... years ago,"
Galzon and Syrio both exchanged quick, curious looks.
"I... beg your pardon?" Galzon quipped.
"When I created the Hellflayer." Venzio continued, abandoning any restraint he once held on the secret, speaking in a candid, matter-of-fact tone. "The Ithanda-cur boy came to me, begging for my power to make him renown, and all he had to bargain with was her soul and some Rabani gold... A soul she foolishly trusted to him,"
The brothers, in rare fashion, displayed surprise.
"He had no idea what he possessed. The value of what was bound to him."
Venzio chuckled to himself.
"So... I bargained with him and gave him the desire of his heart... of course... on my terms. But do not lament, brothers. There is no concern nor crisis. Her soul was well spent. I purchased the very ground beneath your feet with it. I unleashed the hound that carved this empire back out of the continent."
Venzio leaned back, marveling at his own schemes, satisfied in himself.
"Her soul... in exchange for an empire. Yes, her soul... it bought an empire."
Galzon and Syrio were amazed.
Venzio's gaze was distant, his voice a soft murmur. "You may move the Society forward. The pieces are in place. I spent my life architecting... everything... and I have given it all for you, my brothers... you and... our people. I have spared nothing."
Galzon, noting the subtlety in Venzio's tone, cautiously ventured, "So we need not fear the child's absence?"
Venzio's reply was tinged with a certain finality. "She will resolve herself, Galzon. She is withering like an early Havenstar leaf by now. In fact, I am surprised she has lasted this long. I thought she would have died by now... and Belzon would have returned to you in grief, ready to do the Society's bidding."
The two brothers continued to awe over Venzio's foresight.
Syrio, trying to gauge Venzio's thoughts, offered, "...Master, the empire, it grows stronger under your guidance."
With a contemplative look, Venzio responded, "An empire must stand on its own foundations. I have laid mine."
Galzon, sensing an unspoken depth, added hesitantly, "Yes you have laid it... Master, your hand steers us true."
Venzio looked at them, his expression inscrutable. "A true leader plants the seeds. The garden grows, even when the gardener is at rest... as I have been these past months."
Galzon mustered the courage and spoke. "Great one... your well-being concerns us," he said carefully. "The journey to the islands was meant for rejuvenation, was it not?"
Venzio looked to Galzon dimly, but firmly.
"I told you, there was nothing there for me."
Syrio, taking the cue from Venzio's tone, nodded in acceptance. "Indeed, Master... ehm... Disappointment can be channeled. We shall ensure that your vision is realized."
Venzio appeared resigned, yet determined. "Your zeal is commendable, Galzon. You will serve well as Governor of Arlia.... Alas... there remains another matter. We are still entangled with the forest dwellers. What news from the front do you bring me? They will be on your northern border, do not forget. They are now your responsibility."
Galzon hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. "Yes of course, the forest yodlers... About that issue, my lord..."
Venzio's pointed eyebrows arched in expectation.
"We have lost count of several of our brothers who you tasked to join the fray. Sound, expert wisdom, my lord. To put our ven with the legions, they are far more sturdy and impervious to the yodlers and their weapons..."
Galzon licked his lips.
"Many officers have already gone missing. Caught in traps and nets. Undoubtedly starving, and suffering at their hands."
Galzon then took a deep breath, then produced a white, broken arrow shaft adorned with runic carvings and handed it to Venzio. The Venrex recoiled slightly upon contact.
"What is this?!" Venzio demanded.
"...A ven was slain in Drümmarg, on the front," Galzon reported solemnly. "It's..."
"It was a Veyná arrow..." Venzio whispered sharply, deducting swiftly, his voice laced with a mix of shock and rage.
"S-so... they dare challenge us. Is this known to the public?" Venzio asked, urgency in his tone.
"We have contained the information as best we can, my lord. Some of our kin have sought refuge in the caves, hiding in the mountains, under the forest glades" Galzon replied.
Venzio slammed his hand on the armrest, his frustration evident. "Our people should not cower! If they seek confrontation, we shall meet them in battle!"
"Hail," both Galzon and Syrio said in unison.
"The tophets... Umbraneth did reveal one truth," Syrio added, his voice unnerving.
"Explain," Venzio demanded, his patience thinning.
"The arrow was loosed by a Veyná hunter named Nael," Syrio revealed.
Venzio's eyes widened, a storm of emotions crossing his face. He covered his face with his hand, his fingers digging into his pale skin in a mix of anger and determination.
At that moment, something within Venzio stirred, like a cauldron of a dormant volcano suddenly becoming ignited into flame. With a wave of his hand, a servant quietly approached, sensing the Venrex's growing agitation. The servant presented a goblet. Venzio took it, his hands trembling slightly, and drank deeply. The liquid, dark and rich, seemed to flow into him, reigniting the embers of his fading vitality. Color returned to his cheeks, and his eyes, once dim, now burned with a newfound resolve.
Syrio looked on with satisfaction... though Galzon seemed strangely indifferent, even disappointed.
"We will make war on the Veyná," he declared, his voice resolute. "We will find them, and eradicate them at last. This shall be my legacy. Our legacy."
Venzio gave a slight nod, a subtle indication that the conversation was over. He suddenly bellowed with bravado, "Attend to the festivities, ensure my subjects are well cared for. When next we meet, it will be in the capital. I will return to the simulacra, the grimoires, we will discover the haven of the hidden ones and set it ablaze with the fires of Umbraneth."
The two ven bowed, a hint of confusion in their demeanor. As they left, Venzio stood solitary, his figure a shadow against the dim light, as his head bowed over, falling asleep.
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Away from the tent, on the edge of the docks by torchlight, a lone female figure stood gazing out at the dark ocean. Her expression was thoughtful, his mind distant from the merriment around her. She wore a dress, something she was seldom seen in, and had her red hair flowing down her back, which was an unusual look for her. She sighed as she drank from her goblet.
"Hello, Valora," said a pale, masculine voice next to her ear. She did not move, because she already knew who it was who approached her.
"Evening," she said.
"...Have you finally seen here what I have seen... what I have warned you about?" Belzon questioned.
Valora scanned around for a moment and took a swig from the goblet. "I'm afraid I have," she said, examining the cup. "A bunch of ven drunk on mixed pig's blood, celebrating the idea that they are the masters of the universe."
Belzon's lips curled into a wry smile, barely visible in the dim light. "And yet, beneath their grand delusions, lies a fragility they refuse to acknowledge. They meddle with much they do not understand."
Valora turned slightly to face him, her eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. "True, but it's not just their fragility. There's something more tonight, a sense of... unease. Have you felt it?"
Belzon nodded solemnly. "I have. It is a calm before a storm. Even Venzio, with his weaving of webs, cannot escape the chain of events he has unfolded."
"The Venrex seems... different," Valora added, her voice low.
Belzon glanced towards the tent where Venzio had been. "His ambitions have always been grand, but now, it seems even he is weary of the weight they carry, while still clinging to it. Like a fever that will not break... like an addiction one cannot walk away from.... that is the curse of power."
Belzon examined the dark horizon of the unruly, taking it in as he mused.
"As I have been saying. I am certain that the end rapidly approaching, Valora... If not the end itself... the end of an era. What I once believed was myth, has revealed itself true. The Age of Night... is at an end."
Valora's eyes grew somewhat milky as she considered this, as she shared his emotions and sentiments, which seemed to break through her years of hardened fighting. It once attracted her to him, his hostility toward superstition. Her gaze began drifting back to the crowd. "If that's the case, you need to be prepared for what's coming next. A power vacuum can be as dangerous. We saw that once already, with him in the first place."
Belzon's expression hardened. "We can only hope that my son-in-law will still inherit the crown. There is still a slight chance."
Valora gave an uneasy smile.
"He's always a brave, loyal len, but honestly Bel, I don't think he is fit for leadership. None of us at court ever have -- and certainly neither did his own blood. His own flesh and blood had no confidence, Bel. Falmar." She said with venom in her tone. "Daryusz' daftness caused a war, Bel. I shudder to think it could cause another."
Belzon and Valora shared a look of consolation. Belzon nodded to affirm her.
"You needn't say his name, I understand you." Belzon said, reassuringly. "
"Besides, I really don't think the powers that be, the powers around Venrex Venzio, would ever let that happen. For one, he would never, ever, be allowed to take the title, Venrex."
"Perhaps, and titles are can be changed while offices remain," He said. "But this is why... I need this favor from you,"
"I know," Valora said, her voice steady yet tinged with a deeper emotion. "...you need me to protect Síbela."
Belzon gave a small nod, appreciative. "Yes... she needs you now, more than ever."
Valora's gaze momentarily lost itself in the distant torchlights before returning to Belzon. "After serving for more than thirty years under two crowns... both under King Gormar and now... this empire... you start to feel like it's forever, a life sentence. But I guess things change." She paused, a hint of resolve in her tone. "I didn't believe you at first, thought you were chasing shadows. But after... I saw them myself, in the catacombs... The shadows you spoke of..."
She inhaled deeply and continued...
"The strange... misshapen... blackened bones, the burnt remains... the charred soils..."
Belzon looked at her, a mutual understanding passing between them.
"I realized I had seen them before... the skulls... they fit the profile of a monster I engaged in 83. And apparently it was... down there... still, lurking in those pits..." She lamented, staring out into the ocean. "I couldn't believe the horrors that were in the catacombs. Those pits! During the Plague years... at first... I thought that was all they were.. but I thought to myself... the plague has been gone for over a decade... and these were... fresh... how could that be?"
A tear dropped from her eyes, and she trembled, ever so slightly, buried under her guilt.
"The tophets." Said Belzon. "The place of sacrifice."
"...I dug hundreds, thousands of them during those years... I... set fire to multitudes of the plague-ridden, and the deceased, personally." She said, a tear dropping from her eye.
"Venzio tricked me... us...."
Valora turned to a bit of controlled rage.
"Why, Bel?" She asked.
"I do not know exactly why, yet," He said. "But I know that with them, they have created a bridge to... Umbraneth."
"Umbraneth." Valora scoffed. "I still am not so sure about that,"
"Neither was I, Valora... until I saw it's face."
"I saw the very same face." Valora said, interjecting quickly.
There was an awkward silence.
"I guess I owe you an apology, Bel..." She said, another tear streaming.
"I know this must have been hard. To see all these things. To have all these revelations, in such a short time. All of the trails we have had to follow to find them... and now, you're leaving the court after such a long tenure... these are a significant changes, Valora. Your service has been the cornerstone of our stability for decades. You are an ironclad soldier, and symbol of steadfastness. But everyone has their breaking points, and that... face... would bring anyone to their knees."
She gave a half-smile. "In truth... I was ready to retire. It's time I looked after one of my own."
A pause hung in the air, filled with unsaid thoughts and unvoiced pain. "I'm... grateful, Valora," Belzon finally said. "Your pledge eases a weight off my shoulders. You have no idea"
"There's a part of our lives we never quite figured out, Bel," Valora remarked, her eyes meeting his. "But this... it's something I can do."
"I'll leave tonight," Valora affirmed, her tone resolute. "Quietly."
Belzon nodded, reaching for her cheek.
"You finally see what I see now," He said. "You've learned what I have learned. You have always been brilliant, Valora. You... Síbela... you represent more than you know... the promise of a future without these squabbles of race... a dismissal of this petty divide. You do not grasp the marvelous thing that you are."
She put her hand over his.
In a fleeting moment, drawn together by the gravity of their shared secret and the uncertainty of what lay ahead, slowly... they both reached in for a kiss. It flowed as if a frozen river was finally melting in the Flamestar's warmth.
Belzon pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "I'll be waiting for you at the rendezvous point in the north." Valora said, looking into his.
"I know," he whispered, ensuring the name was etched in her memory. "You will be safe there. But first, I must attend one last meeting... one last chance before this devolves beyond repair... but by then, they will surely realize our desertion."
Valora, began to move away from the docks. She paused, turning back to look at him. "Belzon, you need to make it to that cathedral. Promise me I will see you there."
Belzon's lips curled into a small, reassuring smile. It was a smile that carried the weight of countless unspoken words, of battles fought and yet to be fought. "You will," he said, his voice a blend of determination and something softer, something vulnerable. "I have to. I want to hear about what you saw that night."
As she walked away, she turned.
"Because you know," She said, biting her cheek. "If I don't find you there... I might search forever."
Belzon closed his eyes and smiled.
----------------------------------------
It was now pitch black with only the small speckles of the lesser stars, as a young blonde len in a black velvet military uniform, sporting a rapier on his hip. He sipped from his crystal glass with one hand, puffed a pipe from his other, the brief light from which illuminated the great wall of yellow stones he leaned against, which beautifully partitioned off the streets of Coralhaven from the beach.
The shadows felt as if they did not move, but he felt their subtle shift, as two great ven's glowing eyes began to join the small red cherry of his pipe.
"...My esteemed Lords!" Said the len, somewhat inhibited by the pipe between his teeth, and noticeably tipsy. He quickly removed it. "It is a pleasure to... see you this evening.
The two ven then manifested in front of him. He reached down toward his feet and pulled up an unlit lantern which sat there. He struck a match and lit it inside, revealing the two pale faces of Galzon and Syrio Grazzli, who peered into his eyes with a look that was typical of Venganzi who wished to strike fear in Lyban hearts to dominate them.
"What can I do for you?" He said, hiccuping slightly.
"Congratulations... Grand Marshal Critz." Syrio said, condescendingly. "...how becoming of you"
Roszenstan guzzled down his glass and then tossed it onto the stone wall behind them, shattering it. He caught his breath, and his lips curled into a thin smile, one devoid of any genuine warmth. "Ah, Lord Galzon, ever the charmer, your brother is," He said to Galzon, ignoring Syrio's insult.
"And here I thought you might have forgotten us… little pawns in the grand game of Fioran politics."
"Oh, a king never forgets the pawns, they... play such a crucial role in bringing about victory..." Galzon began, a note of forced camaraderie in his voice.
Syrio chimed in. "Quite the lucky len you are... to replace Marshal Minsz..."
"She shall be... sorely missed." Said Roszenstan, with a wide smile. "It is truly a loss for both the city and the empire to discover news of her... rather untimely retirement,"
Roszenstan furled his blonde eyebrows into a look of judgement as he mentioned his former teacher's strange decision.
"Wouldn't you say?" He continued, drawing from his pipe, not feeding into their attempts at intimidation.
"Good riddance." Syrio interjected, with slight venom. "We would rather have... well... a len like you... than a chimera wench."
Roszenstan's eyes met Syrios, meeting his with Roszenstan's own arrogance.
"How was your trip to the Merchant Republic?" Galzon said, dismissing the pleasantries. "...What did it merit you?"
"Can't say I know what you're referring to, Governor Grazzli." Quipped Roszenstan, who sipped on his wine. "Oh wait, you're not quite Governor yet. Lord Galzon... neverthless... Brava... brava... bravissima." "
"Enough, Critz. The ruby. News." Galzon pressed on, ignoring the jibe. "You have… secured these things we have agreed upon, I trust?"
With theatrical slowness, Roszenstan produced a small, wrapped item from his fine, black trousers. "Indeed. Doge Dandoloz practically handed it over. It's curious how estrangement breeds such... generosity."
As he handed the ruby to Galzon, the light caught its facets, casting ominous shadows.
"You mean, greed," Said Galzon, who bounced the weight of the item in his hand.
"It is curious that the Prince had collected one. The Doge was eager to sell it to me, I needed only a fraction of the bag you sent me with, said it was cursed in his hands."
"...So you may return the difference to us, then," Syrio remarked.
"No, I don't believe I will." Said Roszenstan, who continued to sip his wine, swirling it in the glass. "I will keep it... for a travel fee... on top of what you have already given me,"
The two exchanged an unsavory look with one another. Roszenstan averted his eyes first, but not from fear or intimidation; he was simply ready to proceed with the conversation.
"I must ask, why did you desire such a thing? A fitting jewel for a new Governor's crown, I presume?" Roszenstan quipped, his voice dripping with veiled contempt, drawing once more from his pipe.
Galzon, unraveling the cloth, allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. "This ruby was cut by our ancestors in the ancient world. And this one... is a symbol... a sign of the end of an era."
Roszenstan's gaze hardened, a glint of malice flickering in his eyes. "Oh, do tell."
"It does not concern you... Lyban." Syrio struck.
"A question," Asked Galzon, still focused on the object. One glowing eye drifted toward Roszenstan. "...Did you happen to encounter... our brother's daughter, Síbela, during your journey to Rajhi? We were told she was there, spending on her... wedding."
"...No." Said Roszenstan, who chuckled a bit. "Who told you that?"
There was a brief silence.
"... She's at your brother's villa on the peninsula."
The two ven immediately shifted their gaze and locked onto Roszenstan, analyzing his every movement to see if he were bluffing.
"How do you know?" Syrio questioned.
Roszenstan emptied his pipe into the sands, and extracted a white, silk handkerchief, and wiped out the bowl.
"Oh, rest assured, I paid my old schoolmate a visit while on your little errand," He said, pulling a folded piece of parchment out, handing it to him. "Here, read this correspondence from her own hand,"
Syrio quickly unfolded it and scanned it quickly, and handed it to Galzon, who did the same.
"...I have done what you've asked, and more. And, while in Rajhi, I did what was necessary to arrange for her... return."
Galzon and Syrio exchanged looks.
"...Your efficacy is noticed, Critz."
Roszenstan gave a playful half-bow.
"Pity... we don't need her, anymore." Said Galzon.
Roszenstan looked up and found himself in calculation, suddenly, and there was a sudden, momentary somberness in the atmosphere, and on his face, something which the ven picked up on.
"Well... shall I call off the attack, then?" Roszenstan asked.
"No." Said Galzon, quickly. "It is better off to eliminate her as a potential threat... and frankly... to put her out of her soulless misery."
Roszenstan was intrigued by the comment, and quickly compartmentalized it to analyze it later. He then inhaled deeply, grooming himself and his uniform.
"Another new order..." He said, pensively. "If it is the end of a yet another era... I need assurances."
"Oh... I believe there is still use for you, Lord Marshal." Said Galzon as he continued to marvel the ruby's beauty. "You will remain at your post, you needn't worry."
"I do not share his feelings." Syrio quipped sharply.
"Oh boo..." Roszenstan lamented, flaunting his charm. "Tsk... Syrio... Syrio... Have I ever let you down?"
Syrio's sinister eyes continued to glare at the young len.
"Loyal mutts... will always have a place... somewhere. Whether they are dumb... blind..." Galzon said, a hint of condescension in his tone.
Galzon's gaze slowly drifted toward him.
"The wise..." He smiled, shifting to a tone of flattery. "...like yourself... who have chosen to redirect their loyalties... to find the correct masters to kneel to... rather than a tired, tarnished crown."
"...Of course, Lord Galzon," Roszenstan replied, his voice smooth as silk, yet cold as steel. "After all, loyalty is a... malleable concept, isn't it? Family ties, and old allegiances."
Galzon met his gaze, an uneasy tension simmering between them. "Indeed, Marshal Critz. Your... adaptability has always been your strength. Your family name, once gilded, is now one of villainy in this empire, and yet, here you are,"
Roszenstan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Adaptability, yes. It's what keeps us alive in these interesting times, wouldn't you say? But I must disagree at one of your points. I am where I am because of my skill. I earned it because I am not made like other len."
"I like you, Critz." said Galzon, smirking. "You have the cunning and predatory spirit of a Venganzi. Pity you were born to the mongrel wretches... but you have made for a fine pawn. Perhaps there is further use for you... perhaps... Umbraneth has something to offer you... and a place for you, yet."
Roszenstan stared expressionless, unphased by the dark comment.
As Galzon turned away and he and his brother began to hover toward the staircase leading to the harbor town's streets, Roszenstan's gaze followed him, a predatory glint in his eyes. Pawn? Your Pawn? Oh yes, Lord Galzon... but even a pawn can check a king, as I see you already know… he thought to himself.
"...I know what you're up to." Roszenstan said, somewhat in earshot. The two Grazzli brothers froze. "...And I know what that stone really is."
With an unholy pace, Galzon quickly whisked himself back toward Roszenstan, and stood before him curtly. Syrio hesitated, then followed.
"Oh... do you, now?" Galzon beckoned.
"Doge Dandoloz told me." Roszenstan said. "His son, Prince Nedraj had been collecting them, and he found them vile. Paired with their reportedly broken relationship... he was eager to sell them."
"Did he... what else did he tell you?"
Roszenstan smiled at them, then took a deep, calculated breath and spoke with determination.
"You see, I have no qualms with you killing one of your own." He said. "But... it's awfully risky to allow the new Marshal and Captain of the Guard to walk away with knowledge of your little ven-magic stone... and my role in it's acquisition. You've effectively made me accomplice, you realize?"
"Are you trying to blackmail me, you insolent Lyban swine?!" Galzon raised his long, sharp fingernailed hand to Roszenstan, who raised his gloved hand in a sparing motion.
"Oh, boo, Grazzli." He said. "Bad form. Of course not, my ven friend!"
The Grazzli brothers were noticably defensive.
"You have nothing to threaten us with, Critz." Syrio chimed in.
"Threaten?" Roszenstan continued. "Please, you misunderstand me."
"I simply want to know... because you see..."
Roszenstan looked up at the vast sea of stars above them, flickering in cascading motion against the backdrop of painted spires of Coralhaven.
"We are involved now... and, I want to ensure... for what you're planning to do, my esteemed lords... I will come out on the winning side. As you know, I always do. I trust you agree it is only a fair price for my silence."
Galzon and Syrio looked at one another again.
"...Your service to the Society of the Night's Veil has been commendable, Critz... and you have shown yourself to be masterfully resourceful," Galzon remarked, "However,"
Galzon gave the uncharacteristic bow of a Venganzi to a Lyban.
"I think it is... time that our... business is concluded."
Roszenstan chuckled.
"No no." He said. "Do you mistake me for a fool? I know what that bow means. You will do no such thing. I shall not be discarded by the likes of you."
Roszenstan drew his rapier, pointing it directly at Galzon's face.
"I've always wondered... what would happen if I ran a ven through enough times," Said Roszenstan.
Syrio smiled behind him, his face obscured by the shadows cast from the walls. Galzon chuckled to himself.
"I trust you know by now that the Venrex already suspects you both. Mark my words. You will not succeed if you continue relying on your own arrogance... feeding your own legend."
The Grazzli brothers were suddenly paralyzed with unnerve.
"I beg your pardon?" Galzon said. "What is this nonsense accusation?
"Oh please drop the masquerade. You heard me." Said Roszenstan. "The incense from those pits in the catacombs are driving you mad. The power you've acquired has filled you with hubris, Galzon. I advise you to see it before you collapse under your own weight."
Galzon raised his slender, sharp hand in the air, as if he was preparing to strike the len.
"You... insolent little cur..."
Roszenstan turned his back to him, tilted his head up, and let out a hearty laugh, hunching over after a few moments. When he had recovered his decorum, he wiped the tears from his eyes and spoke.
"Aha... If you hope to succeed, you're going to need my help, Grazzli."