Kveldulf gripped the head of his axe tightly as they moved through the crowded avenues towards the center of the Heraclea Ward. He kept wiping the sweat from his brow, his other hand shaking as it dangled loose on his other side. While the light coming from the Grand Plaza grew in intensity, he felt the sensation of walking towards his own execution.
He felt a tap on his right arm, he looked and saw Jeanne staring back at him. Her eyebrows drawn together and keeping a strong gaze. She said not a word but Kveldulf, turning his gaze away, knew her thoughts. “That obvious?” he asked.
“More than reading a book,” she replied.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping his brow again. “Gods it hot.”
“It’s the middle of Polaris,” Jeanne replied, “and springs here aren’t known for their intense heat.”
“Oh you are not helping right now.”
“And you’re going to give a guard something to ponder if you don’t take a breath.”
“You’re not in the country you’re banished from.”
Jeanne pondered the thought. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“Just … just close by all right?” Kveldulf asked.
Jeanne nodded. “I don’t plan on wandering soon.”
“You never plan on your wanderings, Jeanne.”
“Not my fault the muse of adventure sings me a siren song.”
“I’m going to need to tie a length of rope to our feet aren’t I?”
“I probably would,” Jeanne replied.
Reaching the end of the avenue, Kveldulf closed his eyes as the blinding light of the shimmering sun struck his eyes. As his sight adjusted to the change, his mouth dropped as he saw the light was simply reflecting off the bright white and silver veined marble used to form the central grand palace in the middle of the open area of the plaza. The seat of the city’s government rested in a ten-story building with a brilliant white stone face covering every inch of the outer walls. Towers rounding the corners of the structure, with hundreds of arrow slits in between. Banners from hundreds of noble houses flew from the very top, with one at its highest left empty. Kveldulf spent his hands clench tightly mixed with awe as he saw the keep for the first time.
Jeanne let out a long whistle. “This is a sight,” she said to them.
“Perhaps we should go and meet the council now,” Cid said to them before they moved to the building.
Moving up the steps Kveldulf saw two guards standing by the double door. They were dressed in plate armor with chain mail covering where the plates could not. Their helmed were shaped with a lion façade with two small openings to allow the wearer to see out of them. Reaching the top step and moving to the door, the two guards crossed their spears together to bar the group entrance.
“What business do you have here?” one of the guards asked.
“We were hoping to speak with the Council,” Cid replied, holding out the sigil given to them.
The two guards looked at the sigil and one of them turned to the other before looking back to the group. “Give me one moment, I need to grab someone,” the guard said before moving through the door and closing it securely with an audible click.
“I thought the sigil would be an easy way in,” Benkin said to them.
“The Council is … peculiar when it comes to that,” the guard said.
“What do you mean?” Cid asked.
The door opened and the other guard and a courtier emerged from the building to meet them. “You’ll see soon enough,” the guard replied.
The Courtier was dressed in pantaloons of gold and white, swirling into the other from his hip down to his shining boots which held a long point past his toes. A deep emerald tunic was fitted tightly to his chest with blue gigot sleeves. His moustache and a small patch of hair on his chin were neatly trimmed and maintained. “Greetings and salutations. I am Berardo, I was informed you’d like to speak to the Council?” he said to the mercenaries.
“We were,” Cid replied presenting the courtier with the sigil. “We have something The Council would be interested in seeing.”
“Is that so,” Berardo said, his head moving upward and one eye narrowing slightly. “This isn’t the first time someone, or some group, has arrived saying they have some matter of great import to discuss.”
“Did they have a severed head?” Benkin asked.
“What?” Berardo asked.
Benkin opened the canvas sack and showed the severed head of Belthory. Berardo jumped back, putting his hand over his heart as his face went white. “What is that?” he said breathlessly.
“Lady Belthory,” Cid said, “Found her skulking about in a cave not far from here.”
“Well,” Berardo, trying to catch his breath, “this was not what I expected to see today.”
“Can we bring this to the Council then?” Cid asked.
“Sadly, I am not allowed to make that decision. Only the members of the Council are given that authority.”
“Can we talk to them when they’re not in session?” Kveldulf asked.
“Unfortunately, they do not allow an audience with those they do not know.”
“Are you fucking kidding me!” Jeanne snapped as she lunged towards Berardo. The man jumped back, both guards moved between him and Jeanne as Cid and Kveldulf pulled her back.
“Jeanne! Not now!” Cid ordered.
“This is fourteen forms of bullshit mixed with a side of stupid!” she replied. “How are we supposed to talk to these windbags if they make it impossible to talk to them!”
“Assaulting the man is not going to solving the problem,” said Kveldulf.
“And we’d rather not have an incident please,” said one of the guards.
“The paperwork is going to be a
“There is a way,” Berardo said, raising a shaking finger to catch her attention.
“We’re listening,” said Kveldulf.
“If you go to the captain of the city guards, he can interrupt The Council’s meeting, should an emergency arise,” Berardo told them.
“Would he be willing to work with us?” Cid asked.
“I would definitely consider that a viable option.”
Cid turned to the others. “All right,” he said, annoyed, “Let’s go pay him a visit.”
***
The city guard’s garrison ward at Grado seemed more of a natural extension of the main keep than a separate entity on its own. The walls matched the outer walls of the city, guards making their rounds along the walkways at the top, sounds of steel clashing and grunts of exertion made when from those training. A tall and wide stone building rose above the wall, a keep outfitted with hundred of arrow slits, large iron pots with wisps of steam rising from the content inside.
Kveldulf noted how this keep closely resembled the shape and size of the Unyielding, though the grey pith forming the outer walls gave a far less ominous atmosphere.
“This place is almost as tall as the Council’s home,” Benkin said.
“Also close by, too,” Maeryn followed.
“It’s probably to give the rubes something of a quick escape when they’ve perturbed the citizens’ patience into a full revolt,” said Kveldulf.
“Gee, I wonder why?” Jeanne asked sarcastically.
As Cid, Kveldulf, Jeanne, Maeryn and Benkin arrived to the gatehouse leading in, the opening was a simpler design with one portcullis on each side and a tower flanking each side. One of the guards stepped forward, her hand outstretched.
“What’s your business here?” she asked firmly.
“We need to speak with the master of guard,” Cid replied.
“For what purpose?”
Benkin held up the bag carrying Belthory’s head, the bottom stained dark crimson.
“Head or heads?” the guard asked.
“Head,” Cid replied.
“Right,” the guard for a moment, still looking at Belthory’s head with horror, “come with me please.” As the guard finally turned away and into the training yard, they loosely gestured them to follow.
Moving across the training yard, past guards attacking training dummies, firing arrows at moving targets, performing marches, and other forms of drill. “Impressive operation you have here,” Cid said to the guard.
“Thank you,” she replied, “our captain used to be in the Orumusic army and applied that level of discipline when he took over the watch. He’s more than eager to ensure the city is under the best of protection.”
“Did the Council not feel the same way before the captain’s arrival?” Cid asked.
“The Council pays little attention what they felt would an elevation of unnecessary and expensive imperialistic expansion,” said the guard.
“I see,” said Cid, grimacing.
Kveldulf turned to Jeanne. Wonder who they’d run to first if someone attacked here? he gestured to her.
Probably to their own shielded world view before a forceful return through cold steel, she replied.
Entering the stone building Kveldulf saw officials, clerks and archivists going about their business at a fast pace. Up to the second floor, they reached the sleeping area, closely resembling a military barracks in style. There were two-level bunkbeds lined in neat rows throughout the length of the room. Weapon racks hung on walls in between the bunk beds.
Up to the final level they found the master of the guard along with several other officers sitting at their respective desks. The master of the guard was deep in thought as he scribbled. The guard saluted the Master of the Guards, reporting, “Captain Laurent, sir, this group arrived with a … head.”
Laurent, his quill jotting down notes feverishly, grunted in acknowledgement.
“What should we do with the head, sir?” the guard asked.
Laurent continued writing and muttering to himself unabated.
The guard turned to Benkin and pointed in a trajectory motion to the desk. Benkin gave her an acknowledging smirk and loudly dropped the severed head onto the desk, echoes reverberating from the walls before dying out quickly. The master of the guards and his officers, lifted from their vocationally induced spell noticed the bag and began studying it intently.
“What the hell is that?” one of the officers asked.
Giving the officer a smirk, Benkin untied the top of the bag, revealing the severed head inside. Several of the officers stepped back, their hands firmly placed on the hilts of their weapons.
“So … that’s what became of the Blood Serpent,” the master of the guards said cautiously. “Where did you … find her?”
“In a cave system near a town called Amlin. She was at The Unyielding Fortress, where her servants were sacrificing people and animals,” said Cid.
“Hundreds of them,” Maeryn followed.
“I know that town,” said Laurent, “Ellia’s mercy, was that’s what was happening over there.”
“By Kusti, the damned rumors were true,” said another officer.
“Rumors?” Kveldulf repeated aghast. “You people were aware of this?”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“We had heard snippets and rumors from traders and other travelers that things were happening,” said Laurent.
“And you didn’t think to send someone to investigate?” challenged Jeanne.
“Of course, we thought it,” retorted Laurent, “we’re not stupid. But half the time someone goes missing, it’s because that person wanted to go on an adventure, or they just decided to run away from home. You’d be surprised how many times that happens around these parts. And for the rest, the Council refuse give us the resources to reach any real conclusion.”
“Did they say why?” asked Cid.
“They’d say there were other, more important matters, to attend to,” said Laurent.
“Just the wife of an immortal, necromantic tyrant,” said Benkin.
“Listen,” said Laurent defiantly, “I accept my part in this, but when the Council says they won’t put the manpower or money into something because they use the sources to make a new thing to celebrate, there isn’t anything I can do. They’re already reducing our budget and I can barely keep the peace throughout most of the city on the best of days.”
“And why is the Council doing such things?” Cid asked.
“It started as the means to help reduce cultural tensions between our people and refugees from Angulriek and Taraneasca, and a slew of other place. Soon it turned into people declaring themselves as animals, carts, and who what else. All the while the people who were supposed to benefit are left in the gutters of Sinnepassi,” said Laurent, slumping back into his chair. “I learned to stop asking a long time ago. Less headaches and even less of a desire to drink myself into oblivion.”
“Do you think if we presented them with this, it would change their minds?” Benkin asked.
“It might,” Laurent said with little confidence. “Though to be honest, I doubt anything would change their minds unless a monster was gnawing on their skulls and sucking their brains out. And even then, you’d have to twist their arms, a bit.”
“That’s a rather interesting image,” said Kveldulf, his lip curling and tapping his boot to the stone slab floor.
“Just wait until you meet them,” Laurent said.
“Is there any way we could speak to Lady Allannia, herself?” Benkin asked. “She’s the Grand Consul of the city, that should account for something?”
“It’s more of an honorary title now,” said Laurent. “After her fifth jubilee, she decreed a transfer of most of her rights of rulership to the council, so no one person could have the same power Callanband did. Which means everything has to go through the Council”
“That’s turning out be a good call,” said Maeryn.
“It started off well enough, but soon lessons learned from the war were willing forgotten. And by those who felt their enlightenment came not from the knowing the past in full, but merely from the passage of time. What little history they do care for is cherry picked or fully rewritten in a tale more fantastical than myths told in our youth. For nothing more than a narrative that lifts their small cadre and leaves all others behind.”
“This is leaving me with a lot less confidence in this meeting,” said Kveldulf.
“Still, we should at least try to see what good can be done, if any,” said Cid.
“And if they give us any trouble, there’s always the fun method,” said Jeanne.
Cid and Kveldulf turned to Jeanne. “You … you’re literally right in front of the captain of the guard,” Cid said to her.
“Oh, it’s not like he’s a big fan of them, aren’t you?” Jeanne replied.
“I’d be surprised if he was,” said Maeryn.
“Could we not have this conversation here now,” Laurent requested.
“Fine,” Jeanne said, “ruin all my fun.”
“But I do see this as being something of a conundrum the Consul created,” Benkin said.
“In her defense, I doubt she could’ve seen what this would’ve lead to,” said Laurent. “But the fact is we’ve got a real threat on our hands. And they need to be informed in some capacity.” He grabbed his cloak, throwing it over his shoulders and fastening it before turning to his officers. “Stay here until I return, you good folks, come with me.”
Laurent escorted down a concealed passageway. They moved quickly down the stairs, through the training yards and towards a large white building housing the Council and their lower offices.
“I can see where the city’s budget is spent,” said Kveldulf.
“No,” Laurent said, bitterly, “This is nothing. But, welcome to the Council’s Palace. Formerly the Reman’s Keep.”
“Why did they change the name?” Maeryn asked.
“The Council thought it carried a warmer connotation,” Laurent replied.
Reaching the doors into the building the guards stood at attention as Laurent neared. “At ease, just seeing the Council,” Laurent replied.
“And them, sir?” the guard asked.
“They’re with me, and give them no trouble,” Laurent replied commandingly.
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, letting them in without issue.
“We need to do this more often,” Jeanne said to Kveldulf. “It’s like we’re guests of honor.”
“I swear you task me sometimes,” Kveldulf replied, shaking his head as he looked up to the heavens.
Inside the first level were the royal gardens of the Grand Citadel of Orumus. The walls were painted with life-like precision to imitate a scene set deep within a forest. Thick trees clustering the western and eastern walls appeared to go deep within the woods for endless miles. The northern and southern ends displayed rolling pastures of long green blades of grass. Along the floor were thin canals of water flowing down them with effigies of fish floating and held with string to make them wriggle in place in the water.
Deer and foxes were painted in the forested scenes rabbits, and other woodland critters depicted. Above them were rods with crackled paper tied close together, causing the rub against each other and make the sound of trees rustling to the wind as people above them spun and shook the roods.
“Because there isn’t a forest outside their walls?” Jeanne asked out loud.
“They prefer imitation before genuine articles,” replied Laurent.
Courtiers walked around leisurely enjoying the decorations were stunned to see the captain and his cadre marching down the pathway, breaking the serene ambiance. Some pulling away, others grabbing their coin purses, and most whispering amongst themselves.
“The fuck is with these people?” Kveldulf asked Cid.
“Their illusion is quite important to them,” Cid answered, his lips curling upwards.
One of the guards standing by the bottom of a long marble staircase looked at Laurent. “Captain, I’m but the Council –”
“Will make the time, this is important,” Laurent interjected.
“Of course, sir,” said the guard, leading them up the stairs. “Right this way.”
Moving up staircase to the tenth floor of the building. Reaching the top of the landing Kveldulf could see the wainscotting running along the walls producing a rich reflection, allowing one to see his image perfectly in the wood grain. Kveldulf wrapped his hands around his torso, noticing Jeanne doing the same. “Not wanting to touch anything either?” he said to her.
“Shepherd’s peace no, this looks like it was a fortune to put up.”
“And a few fortunes to keep up,” Laurent replied, “Though it does look nice.”
He noticed the others giving him a perplexed look.
“What? I like good woodworking.”
Reaching the top of the staircase, they saw dozens of portraits, tapestries, flags, frescos, heraldic devices, and other works of art displayed on the walls and ceiling. At the end of the long hallway was a double door, large and ornate, with two guards standing in front of them.
“All right, I’ll admit it,” said Jeanne, “This is pretty damn impressive.”
As they reached the doors leading into the Council Room, Laurent whispered into one of the guards ear who nodded and quietly entered the room.
“The council should be on the other side of this room,” said Laurent. “No before we go in, is anyone of you not familiar with the history of the Council?”
Everyone held up their hands, though Kveldulf began lowering his. “Are you referring to a short summation, or detailed history?” asked Kveldulf.
“Either.”
Kveldulf shook his head and raised his hand once more.
“All right, after Allannia defeated Callanband, she put the city’s council back together to help her with running the city. This initial group comprised of her top officers. And as I mentioned before, she’s given much of the rulership over to them. The people who you will be talking to are the descendants of those original council members. They are very proud of that fact, and will not hesitate to remind you of this, repeatedly.”
“So, expect pompous assholes,” said Kveldulf.
“Your words, not mine,” said Laurent before he opened the door.
Once inside, the group saw the walls covered with etched frames of gold and jewels. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, as silver braziers shaped in the form of bowls were held up by golden figures in the forms of women and men. Gorgeous wooden molding with gold and white paint lined the tops of the mirrors, and bordering the curved ceiling above. The ceiling was painted with images of mythical creatures, ancient battles, and other fantastical scenes, life in crisp color and details.
On the far side of the room was a semi-circular table with five people sitting along the length of the piece on the other side. Behind them was a large stain glass window, filling the room with colored light from the sun. Each one was of the current members, with their names and titles gracing the space on the table where they sat.
As the group finally reached the table, the seated individuals paid no attention to the mercenaries. The one seated in the middle had their interlocked, save for the index fingers, which were pointed upwards. “I still believe we need to reign in the use of pointed shoes for those of the lower classes,” he said to the other councilors, “if the common folk are pushed to such extravagant means, then they will not spend time working on improving themselves and sustaining their ways of life.”
“I agree,” said the second council member, “many in the Lower Wards are already living in dire straits. It would be barbaric if they allocated any meager funds to such superfluous affairs such as shoes and obscenely colored garments.” As they finished they adjusted their indigo blue and scarlet red tunic as they lifted their long pointed boots onto the table.
“They’d probably spend whatever money they’ll save from this new law over at the houses of ill-repute,” said third council member.
“Oh don’t get me started,” said second council member. “Damned filthy whores. If Alliana hadn’t continued their charters they’d be run out of the city.”
“Of course, that had to be one of the few facets she kept for herself,” said fourth council member.
“You’d think she’d let us show how to be more than mere instruments of sexual gratification,” said the second council member.
The first councilor, sitting at the middle of the table, spotted Laurent and the others and addressed them. “Ah yes, the adventurers from the village of Amlin. We were informed that you had some information for us,” he said in a calm, tolerating demeanor.
“We do,” said Cid, bowing his head forward. “We …”
Before Cid could finish, the first council member interrupted. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that your leader was a Felidan.” The councilman looked at Kveldulf and Jeanne, who were standing right behind Cid.
“I am,” Cid replied, “These two are my lieutenants.”
“Ah,” said the councilman. “So, this is your freelance company, then?”
“Yes, we are … The Wolf Company.” Cid inhaled sharply, his lips slowly receding inward.
Kveldulf and Jeanne turned to Cid then to each other, silently shrugging.
“The Wolf Company,” the councilman said, “Good to know there’s a group who can be relied on for difficult circumstances. I am sure you have done much for our community since your inception.”
“Of course, reliability is the cornerstone of any good business relation,” said Cid, “We have the distinct honor of helping with recent troubles around Almlin. And to whom do we have the pleasure to speak?”
“I am Marin Faletro, long kin to Marius Faletro, who served Her Serene Grace, Lady Allannia in the wars against the Tyrannous Callanband and his craven acolytes,” said Marin, his chin up and a confident smile on his face. “And to whom do we owe the pleasure?”
Cid, gripping his sword’s hilt tossed it into the air, guards beginning to move forward as Cid caught the weapon and with a quick slash of his blade, pointing to the floor declared, “My name is Rodrigo Diaz’la de Vivar’enza de Cideador, Lord Champion of the Kingdom of Ibera, Master Knight of the Order of the Tiger, and your most humble servant.”
Marin jutted his jaw to the side while taking a deep breath. “Quite the show,” he said, “We are glad to have you and your compatriots within our walls.”
Cid sheathed his blade, easing the guards’ mood, and said, “The pleasure, of course, is ours, and we felt compelled by civic virtue to inform you and your peers of a discovery we came upon. Ben if you could, please.”
Benkin, the sack in hand, planted it on the circular desk and showed Belthory’s head to the council. Gasps, stunned gazes and skin turning white came over all of the council, speechless as they looked upon the deceased. “Is that …?” one councilmember asked, covering her mouth as she spoke.
“The queen of the tyrant herself,” another followed.
“Did you,” said a third council member, unable to finish the question.
“We faced her and some of her followers to The Unyielding Fortress. It seemed as if she was working on something, to what end, I cannot say,” Cid replied.
“Yes,” said Marin trying to reach out towards the sack, but shirking away as he neared it. Benkin gently lifted up the canvas fabric, and took it back with him. “I see this is something indeed.”
“Perhaps we could inform her grace,” said Benkin.
“That will not be needed,” said Marin. “She has many pressing matters to attend to responsibilities, this would be the last thing she’d need to know.”
“Still,” said Cid, “It would only be right that she was made aware.”
“I’ll make sure to inform her personally,” Marin said, “You have my word.”
“Of course,” said Cid. “We will adhere to your discretion.”
“But let us not think of such horrid things,” said Marin as he moved to the group. “In fact, I think you all have earned yourselves a bit of a reward for your service,” Marin turned back to the other councilors, “Would you not agree?”
The others simply nodded and smiled politely.
“What did you have in mind?” Cid asked.
“Well, it is almost the time of the Spring Solstice and we normally hold a charity feast in cooperation with the various religious churches, temples and other hallowed locations in order to raise money for the less fortunate. It’s a wonderful affair, and I think you and your compatriots would greatly benefit from being there as a token of our gratitude.”
“We are going to need some appropriate attire,” said Cid. “This is essentially all we have clothing wise.”
“Never you mind,” Marin said to him, “I’ll send for my personal tailors, they’ll have your outfits ready before you can think twice.”
“And not everyone in our group is present.”
“Just tell my people how many are coming, and the rest will be taken care of.”
Marin turned his gaze to Laurent, “Captain, if you would be so kind as to stay with us, for a few moments, I do believe our business here is concluded.”
Captain Laurent bowed his head. “Yes, Councilman Faletro. Guard, if you could escort our guests to the garden.”
The guardsman gave a quick salute and led the group to the garden level. The courtiers looking on them in the same manner as when they first arrived. As they left the building Cid looked to the others. “So that was interesting.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Kveldulf responded.
“Why wouldn’t they want us to speak with Allania?” asked Maeryn.
“My guess is they don’t want her to know,” said Jeanne.
“But why?” asked Benkin. “It’s like not telling someone their house is on fire.”
“There’s more to this than what we can see, at least for the time being,” said Cid. “Let us play the fool for the moment. Not jostle the boat and make waves and turn more of their attention to us.”
“Should we do anything in the meantime?” Kveldulf asked.
“Jeanne, why don’t you stop by Doc’s clinic, see how things are going with him, Sil and Hypatia. The rest of us will try to find an inn to hunker down and see what will be our next contract.”
“Right,” said Jeanne, “Don’t get into too many fights while I’m gone.”
“We’ll save them all for you until we regroup. Now go and fluster our academics you prophet of chaos and anarchy,” said Cid, waving Jeanne off.