7th day of Midas’ Win, year 983
“One week left for the full moon... While the accumulated gold is not enough, the ransack of the Hands’ outpost should help us fill the quote. Too many luxury goods to count, but my estimates are looking alright. The new gold mine should also be able to help us going forward.” An old habit born out of his long hours in the forge, Noct narrated out loud his thoughts in the undead tongue, a language long called cursed. The eerie words helped the bloody atmosphere of the room, even if the mountain of commandeered gold and goods was contrasting against it. Ignoring the gore and broken walls and pieces of wood, Noct looked around with a blank look.
“...I will be able to start fixing the slums.” Tired of doing calculations standing in the same spot, Noct’s steps started to echo as his raiding party followed him. “Go back to the forge.” He barked as his shadows were enchanted into life and started to swallow the mountain of loot. “I will go to the druids.”
His mind missing the usual fiery showdown of his purges, the skeletons retreated to the shadows in an orderly manner as he walked towards the exit in the ground level. His gaze didn’t linger on the walls tainted with blood nor in the dead bodies of mercenaries, assassins, butlers… Every Hand member had been dealt with accordingly. Nonetheless, his gaze fell trapped by a corpse with two different shoes in the middle of the walk.
“So you were here, Roland.” His poker face didn’t move an itch. They weren’t close enough to be called friends and, honestly, he was an idiot. He would miss him.
Now outside, the light show of morning rearing its head, he stretched his back. Letting out an exhausted sigh, he set course towards the druid encampment. Located a few hours' walk from the city, it was adjacent to the barony’s forest, one of the several that permeated the north. Enormous trees with excellent quality but too costly to work with, they saw little demand, unlike the forests of the northeast islands. The local dryads were an added, if manageable, problem.
Leaving the city in the middle of the morning frost, he ignored its bite thanks to the enchantments in his armour. Behind, back in the city, he left a cacophony of shouted orders and the march of dozens of guards, bussy checking the building he had almost levelled from the inside out. And, soon, they would stop doing their mandatory checkup.
As it was a fairly known event. Usually done with more methodical care, the sight of murder sprees with only the victims bodies, and of important people, were done by one specific person. And that person paid their monthly checks. He couldn’t stop the smirk as the sounds died out and normalcy returned to the city. After eight long years he had done it. He had created a city, no, a barony in which he could do whatever he wanted. Rule unopposed. And here he was, getting ready to backtrack all of it. To reduce his efforts to dust. He could hardly keep his smirk from developing into a full blown smile.
As he sped up, he continued to mumble about the best course of action. He needed to gain more enemies, thereby turning them into allies of the baroness, while also fixing the excesses and martial law in the mess of a city he had constructed. ‘Let’s start with the city itself. The rest will come easily enough when the baroness starts redoing the guard. The churches are more difficult to move. Maybe another show on the main square will finally make that paladin tip over. After that, I will crush the corrupt leader I put there and let her take command.’
…………..
“Who in their right mind calls at five in the morning?! Stop knocking! I am going!” Screeched Albestus, renowned earth wizard. Having been rudely awakened by the equivalent, in his mind, of a repeated charge of a meefalu against the door of the Farming Research Guild, his mind started to curse. ‘That classless buffoon is going to break the door at this pace.’ Meaning to say, he was not a morning person.
The curses started to leave his mouth, feeling too old to deal with pranksters or bureaucrats eager to share their suffering. He was nearing his fifties and, after living this long, he had let his patience dwindle. And it was non existence for punks that just wanted to waste his time. Still dressed in his pyjamas, he grabbed a robe that, by the grace of Androl, God of Fashion, covered them before reaching the door.
His morning attire concealed him as a normal, old researcher on one of his free days. Slippers hazardously put on, the sole of the right one dangerously loose and one that had given him too many spooks going up and down the stairs. A cotton blue hat, that he remembered to hastily throw on one of the nearby chairs, had hidden the hair that had grown too close to grey for his personal taste. A blue silk robe with engraved enchantments ended his look
Not willing to waste a second of the morning, and muttering about how he would turn the caller into a frog, he opened the door, still half asleep. Having not seen the offender yet, he started to chastise the fool who, for whatever reason, had disturbed his, and half of the team’s, sleep.
With a curt and to the point tone, “The Guild doesn’t open till Zhûn’s up, lad. So be less of a barbarian and….go….” His grogginess banished as if he had never been there when his gaze captured the figure in front of him. The damn, bloody Regent, Noct of the Ashen Household. And their lone investor.
“Go where, High Profesor Albestus?” His calm words and still face didn’t stop Albestus’ knees from almost giving out. The bastard was evoking his usual aura of fake necromantic mana, a show off trick that would be useless in a real fight. Still, it made his own defensive spells turn on, thanks to the sheer quantity of fake grey mana distorting the very morning air. The wind was no longer hearable and no soul nor animal dared to move in his vicinity. ‘Impressive as always, it even makes my movements sluggish.’
‘And petty as always too.’ Thought Albestus as Noct had caused his mana to run amok to mark his point. Neither slander nor ignorance would be tolerated. Still, he himself had pride he was submissive to, so he held his head up and masked the instinctive fear that the grey mana caused on living beings. A High Mage and veteran researcher of the arcane arts, he let his own mana go free as if to counterattack. This strange measuring context turned into a tug of war that, after a few seconds, Albestus quickly won, erasing the pressure. Having recovered his bearings with this small victory, he bowed.
“My Regent, I plead for your forgiveness. My old age has made me blurry of sight, slow of mind and lacking in wits to properly see this early. I beg for you to let me rescind my words. Your Guild is always open for you, whenever it may be of use.” White words flew from his veteran tongue as he let Noct in.
A reactionless Noct entered the building, his gaze prompting Albestus to guide him towards his office. “I assume it's something of grave importance?” Continued Albestus, while circulating the innards of the Guild.
The atmosphere of the Guild was the same as the prestigious universities of the central provinces, even if its dimensions were on the humble side. Every bit of it was fitting for the agglomeration of experts and the eccentric intellect of the dozens of wizards it housed. Advanced books and research papers cluttered all tables, chairs and bookshelves, some visible, some covered by those. The simpler and cheaper of the books laid on the floor, the last open space of several rooms.
“Indeed. Adding to that, I have decided to dust off some of my old blueprints, and I am sure you would be delighted to see them.” Noct’s smirk was bad news, he was willing to bet an arm on it, but he had no time to consider it as Noct changed the topic. “How is the research going? Have you and your ragtags made progress on the acceleration of tree growth?”
Pulling his beard, Albestus answered, “We have managed to reduce the time without affecting the quality to four months. If you are willing to have oak wood that could be cut by a kid with an axe, eight days.” He opened the door and entered first, aiming for the couch behind his desk before stopping himself.
“And does that soft wood work as a good fuel for fires?” Asked Noct as he entered, beelining for Albestus’ couch behind his own desk, on which he sat without a care and crossed his legs.
“As good as any other combustible on the market.” Albestus sighed as he grabbed a bottle of dwarven Water of Life and poured it into two glasses. His frown as he sat on the quest chair was unnoticeable. “We lack lengthy tests on the matter, so we can’t be sure that it would be good enough.”
Noct’s slow nod didn’t betray his hidden surprise. He had ordered them something that would take at least a century of investigation and they had delivered in, three years? “Truly, you lot are the best thing money ever brought to this barony. My most sincere congratulations.” He took a swing from the glass Albestus had served him. “You can expect both monetary reward and a medal when I get back to the castle. Thanks to your magics we should have enough soft wood for the winter. Put a seven three proportion at half swing, so that we may be able to keep up with the demand of the carpenters I will call. Feel pride, High Mage. You have bested winter itself.”
Not prepared to receive such honest, direct praise, Albestus drank as a pause before inquiring. “So, what were those blueprints you wanted to show me?” His pride stroked, now he was more willing to work the extra mile.
Not wasting a second after seeing Albestus had taken the bait, Noct pulled out from the shadows of the couch an aquamarine shard. As big as his thumb, it made little noise when he put it on the table. A few finger movements around it and it came to live, producing several spell circles as big as itself. These started to orbit around it, bringing to life a projection in mid air of the whole slums, the rest of the city being blank.
Still, these weren’t the actual slums. They were well organised,had ample roads big enough for the biggest of carriages and had an architecture mirroring that of the elven realms from the centre of the continent. The buildings, hybrids of houses and trees, littered the illusion, some big enough to rival the elder woods of past times. Together with a plumbing system that utilised the roots of the hundreds of new trees as cleaning devices, the waste produced by this part of the city would be cleaned and transported by the to be repaired sewage system. No longer would it be in disuse, officially at least.
Surprised by the gem itself, Albestus inched forward. “....almighty Eclair, Goddess of Knowledge. How? Did you manage to house information in the form of mana?” Future projects and outings just seemed so easy now with this gem. Still, carving it seemed like a pain, seeing as the markings of the spell circles couldn’t be seen with the eyes. ”A beautiful design.” He would need a Forger.
“And your new job.” Noct’s eyes shone as he reviewed the hologram, his fingers tapped on the table, “The stone itself is a gift but the information in it, an order. Transform the slums following this prototype. Turn them into something that the rest of the city can get marvelled at. Under the baroness’ instructions, as you will communicate.”
“...Madness! This…this is, we do not have enough…how much money? The costs…” Albestus racked his mind as he tried to calculate the workload, the time that would be needed, the space he would be made to move things. Talking had been a secondary objective. His fingers whitened, trying to take the numbers in. Pausing and taking a long breath in, he stopped his calculations. “How long?”
“Before winter sets in.” The sound of raining coins drowned any sounds that followed that simple statement, as the shadows from the couch dropped their payload. “These will be your funds for the task.”
“Let me get this straight.” Albestus got out of the chair and started to pace around his study. “So, in a few weeks time, we have to stockpile enough wood to last the winter, rebuild from scratch the outer city and continue investigating our current projects?” The blank look of Noct as he sipped the liqueur again almost made him snap. His voice arming itself, “And why would we even start by the outer ring?! That’s a titanic amount of work to be done, on a prototype even! Shouldn’t we start by the inner ring? That would suffice for a complete test for urban development effectiveness.”
“Because, If it fails and they all freeze to death, it won’t matter.” The blank look turned piercing. “They are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. And, more importantly, I am your paycheck. Do not discuss. Adhere to what I say.” The coldness in that gaze cooled Albestus down, even if not his protests.
Noticing some danger, he returned to the chair. “Nonetheless, you built this Guild for research purposes. We are no builders.”
“And I am altering your purposes. Do you want me to change them to fighting the Republics?” The small smile of Noct was everything but amicable.
Knowing when to give up, Albestus nodded. “So be it. Still, we may not manage to…” Still focusing on the logistics, he didn’t notice the murder intent until he finished seating and finally looked to Noct, “...use all the funds you have gracefully lended us! The generosity you have is but an ever amazing show, my Regent!”
“Seeing as you will have no problems, I will get going. Do work hard on these tasks.” Getting up from Albestus’ coach, he simply melted into the shadows of the ground.
Now alone, Albestus loudly sighed, leaning back into his chair, which cracked from the effort. Not bothering to return to his expensive couch, he let himself fall into thought. ‘You, of all people, thinking your strategy would fail? A flimsy excuse if I ever heard one. I guess it has been long since he used subtlety.’ Making a “pfff”, he shook his head. ‘Never would have I thought that the rumoured tyrant of Alpin would try and better the lives of poor peasants. It didn’t look that he had an angle other than boosting the legitimacy of his sister. Did he suddenly grow a heart?’ After a few seconds he shrugged.
Refiling his glass, he let out a small laugh. ‘Tina owes me five silver coins now. I should do the betting drunk thing more often. Nethers, he still instils fear like being trapped in a labyrinth with a Stone Lizard.’ Resting his half empty glass, he looked to the window, the morning sky in full view. ‘I should have stayed in the Capitol…not. I do love work too much for that.’
…………………..
With morning in full view with its blue sky, Noct was hard at work in the main square of the inner circle of the city. A very transited place of the city, the earliness didn’t dissuade the ins and outs of the people with business in the area, even if today seemed like a boring day, as a lot of people were avoiding the main roads.
The guards watching the square, on the other hand, didn’t have such a luxury. Their shift started at dawn and ended at midday so they had a perfect location to observe as their Regent worked. And they knew that they would add to his workload if they so much as gagged at the sight. So they stood as statues, perfected discipline out of sheer fear. They looked to the front, as still as they could manage.
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Noct cared too little about them to even remember they were there. Casually, he picked another spear from his shadow, which was connected to his personal armoury, and continued casting magic.
His right arm had two spell circles. The runes of the first one glowed red. A rough translation could be, in meaning, something along the lines of “Enchant, strength, resistance, permanence.”, surrounded by numerous mathematical formulae that pinpointed target, range, potency and magical consumption. These numbers served as the vectors of movement for the mana, interwoven with the runes themselves to achieve stability and harmony. Of course, this spell circle had a subsidiary, smaller one, whose purpose was to gather mana from the atmosphere, as most mages needed. These rotatory layers served as “feeder” circles. Bigger spell circles would have, exponentially, a higher rate of usage of mana, so these layers would be multiplied or transformed into spell circles of their own.
The reason for these additional constructs was the limited internal mana of mortals, causing them to seldom use spells from themselves if the circumstances weren’t dire. The alternative, of course, was way more time consuming.
Returning to Noct, the second spell in his arm was more simplistic, a close meaning going be “Near, strength”, and mirrored the sigils from his armour plates. Simple spell was an oxymoron of course. No spell was easy to craft but some required less calculations for a higher mana cost.
Now, sigils were akin to the will needed to move blue mana, mortals’ mana, towards the needs of a wizard. The art of spell casting was but a will contest between the caster and the laws of reality, spell circles being a self made will from which the spell could be caster. Meaning, sigils were but a refined will in runic language, which gave casters a better or instant visualisation of the spell the sigil was made for. They eliminated the need to construct the spell in the mind of the caster. Their most common usage was for half written spells, which had the feeder layers and a few calculations letting the wizard cast costly spells using the atmospheric mana, or for directly casting spells.
A good example of a sigil would be a complex spell. For comparison sake, to throw a gust of flame in front of you required but a simple mental calculation of the mana you wanted to waste on the spell and the nature of the spell. But if you wanted to cast a fire lance against a far away target, you would need several calculations to maintain precision, consistency of the magical projectile, to permanently remember the nature of the spell and several more things than a caster would not be able to focus on in certain circumstances, like the circumstance of needing to hit someone with a fire lance. Sigils could be taken as the meaning of the spell, being able to cast the fire lance by themselves but neither directing nor throwing it.
These had been the backbone of the enchanting industry, as they were able to reduce the amount of carving needed to gift objects magical properties, but their focus on only one spell had been deemed too troublesome. A sigil of “Iron Skin” could only be used for that spell, after all. Nowadays, they only were used for scroll crafting, as they were phenomenal for low tier spells, but lacked the capabilities for complexity. They simply paled in comparison to a normal, runic spell circle, which held infinite possibilities. They were great tools for direct combat, as they could disguise what spell was being casted and help craft slightly more powerful or complex spells, but that was it.
Returning, again, to Noct, we could shorten the explanation in: The first red spell circle accumulated mana which it used to enchant the spears to be tougher, while the second simply reinforced his arm, giving it more strength.
In rhythmic fashion, he stabbed the handle of the spear into the rocky ground that formed part of the square, creating several cracks on it and nailing the still pristine spear in it. A beautiful silver made weapon, it stood proudly, a metre and a half of length, a third of it embedded into the ground.
His hand reached for his shadow, grabbing the head of a random member of the “Hands”. Without disturbing his blank look, he impaled it on the spear. The expression of complete and vivid fear it had while alive still in it, it faced forward from the edge of the plaza, gazing at the most transited part of the city. The main roads.
A few hours later of the work of a regent, the heads of the hundred and twenty four members of the “Hands” laid plainly for all to see. A clear deterrent for the small independent criminal organisations that still remained, and a danger warning for the unsavoury elements of the city, as it told the tale of the betrayal of Noct and was a promise of them being the next.
Dusting his gauntlets off, not that it was needed thanks to the self cleaning enchantments, He got up and started to head to the castle. He didn’t mind the pale visage of the nearby guards, who had stood there while he tied up his plot.
Of course, the news had, by now, already reached the ears of the residents of the local church of Elenia, Goddess of Protection and Compassion. And, the head paladin, together with the security corps of the countess, were already getting ready to storm the castle and question what in the Nethers had happened.
…………….
The doors of the throne room were flung open, pushed by a comitive of four furious paladins and an apologetic clerk guarded by two knights invaded the throne room.
The doors of the throne room were flung open, and a comitive of four angry paladins and an apologetic clerk with two guards invaded the throne room.
Noct, unfazed by their aggressiveness, was sitting, indolently, in the throne. His head resting upon his fist, he waited for them to kneel, to show proper respect, before addressing both retinues.
The clerk and their two knights did as expected of them, equal parts of fear and protocol compelling their kneeling. Out of the other five, only three paladins half honoured their regent by bowing their heads, the other two standing behind their leader.
The High paladin, refusing to humour the regent, stood as tall as she could appear. Both the cold fire in her eyes and her build revealed her as a seasoned warrior, a veteran of several combats. A scarred face and shining armour, she refused to kneel to the tyrant.
“To what do I owe the discourtesy of you trampling upon my castle, Sorak? For I would like to destroy it.” Noct’s apathetic gaze turned towards the clerk, “Well meet, sir Androp. I pray the Countess is in good health. Did you need something from her loyal vassal?”
“Cut the formalities, regent!” Sorak moved a step forward, right hand in her longsword and left in the air, a fist. “What is the reason for your barbarie this time?” Androp’s response was drowned by Sorak’s loud words. While she was used to the brutality of nobles, and had a few years in this barony under her belt, today's spectacle was three steps too far. For Elenia’s sake, there were teens heads on the main square
She stood still as Noct raised his head from his fist. She stood taller as the mana outburst made her fellows kneel.
“Tell me something, Sorak.” His voice would have frozen steel. “Do your holy powers demand you to be the judge of my lands? I did what I am mandated to by law. I acted like a noble. I judge criminals, and judge them harshly I did.” His head returned to his fist, and the pressure died. “Don’t you have to care for the souls of your faithful, paladin? Why waste time here trying to usurp my rightful right, as the regent and acting baron, to dispense justice as I see fit in my realm, Sorak?” He couldn’t hide his smirk anymore. “Would you rather be part of the judged, is that it, paladin?”
“When you act like a butcher it is our duty to stop and question.” Her left first hit her chest. “Nay, it is the duty of the church, for this is beyond anything you have done in the last two years.” Her hand tightened around her sword and she said something she couldn't take back. “Don’t act like you judged them, regent! There was no trial granted to those criminals. And I can bet most weren’t. What could have those men a women, those children, done to deserve death?” Another step forward, filled with pride for her holy mission. “I demand answers, and I want them now, as it is my right as High Paladin! And even a miscreant like you should know better than to lie to a paladin of Elenia!”
The clerk palled and threw himself on the ground. He had seen carnage in this room for way less.
Yet the walls only rattled with the fury of Noct’s voice, a whisper charged with mana. “You dare to demand something from me in my castle, High Paladin? And with what power will you make me yield, if you would dare to try?” A declaration of war against the very church of Elenia. Still, and surprisingly, Noct scoffed, “I will humour you nonetheless, as it will be the fastest way for you to shut up. Ask.”
Her rage blinding her to the evident panic of the more veteran clerk, and the continuous disrespect against herself and the church motivating her words, she asked, “Were there any innocents among the criminals you captured?”
“Yes”
Sorak blanked for a few seconds. That simple answer struck as a truth. Her fist gripping, again, the blade, she continued, “And why would you still do it?”
Noct simply looked at her, flabbergasted. “And why would I not do it? They were in the way.”
A temporary silence fell onto the throne room. Sorak moved another step forward. Another truth. “Then will you step down and face a trial of your own?”
The clerk and his guards silently retreated from the throne room, swearing in their minds that they had not been here this day, for, if looks could kill, Noct’s glare would have killed a God.
“Will you?” The simple question resounded in the same breath as the closing of the door.
Sorak stomped the ground, cracking the stone. “I pray to Elenia, when will you take your duties as a Regent seriously!? When will you deserve the mantle of your prestigious position? What made you think you deserved this power without responsibility, without giving anything in exchange!?
Now Noct rose from the throne. The shadows of the room lengthened, the torches dimmed. The paladins’ swords became aflame, as their faith noticed the danger. “Oh my,“ His dark tone as he walked to the edge of the throne’s platform made the five paladins ready their stances, “but haven’t I been ruling as a noble should rule, Sorak? The roads are safe. Crime is at an all time low. I haven’t engaged in as much depravity as the common baroness. And people like you can disrespect me like that without losing their heads.” He bent a bit, to be eye to eye with Sorak, who was right in front of the dais. “I think your faith has clouded your judgement. Maybe I could order you to rest for a long, long while?”
Undeterred, Sorak continued, “Better than most? As if that was a valid excuse! That says more about them than about you!” Half unsheathing her blade, she decreed, “I find you guilty of unlawful executions, corruption and being unfit to rule, hereby condemning you a criminal. Until our church determines your culpability you are to remain in our dungeons! Your sister will act as her own regent until you are declared innocent. Will you complain?”
Laughter was her first response. A loud cackle that seemed so out of place for the dark room. Doubling over, Noct returned to the throne, on which he continued to snicker for a while. Sorak almost invaded the platform, blade almost out. Almost.
Noct, finally calming down after a content sigh, gazed at her, still amused. “And under what power you presume to attempt to arrest me, Sorak? Me. Noct of the Ashen Household. Expelled High Mage of the University of the Capitol. Dark mage and Forger, regent of the Alpin Barony.” The torches went out. The only light of the room residing on Noct’s armour, shining a sickly green that wasn’t just bright enough to reveal his body caked in shadows, and in the blue fires from the paladins’ swords. “What can you do to take me prisoner when I am sitting on this throne? What might do you command? What crusaders will obey your words? What forces will your church muster in this time of war who, I will tell you, is on my side? When I rule by Her Empress command alone!” That last word was barked. The torches lighted anew and light returned to the room.
“You have neither the means nor the force, Sorak. The only reason I won’t execute you for treason today is that your displeasure pleases me greatly. Now, you lot, scatter like the worms you are.” Noct waved his hand, boredom slipping into his tone. There would be no fight today, it appeared.
The lower paladins didn’t wait for another word. Proving his point, they darted to the door and left their leader behind.
“The Empire won’t allow a criminal to maintain a regency.” Continued Sorak, the fire of her sword still bright.
Noct sighed. “You do not understand my words, should I start speaking elvish? It does not matter what or who I am. What matters is if you have the power to back your words.” Noct reclined in the throne, “I have an army. A castle. A city. You have nothing. Not even your Goddess.”
“Oh?” Noct sat upright, seeing the intense fury in Sorak’s eyes. “Then prove She is behind you. Pray and make Her smite me. But you can’t. She is as fake as my family’s God.”
Now Sorak rushed in, betraying, or surpassing, Noct’s expectations. A flaming longsword met a black steel gauntlet, which soon turned into a reddish brown. Powered by spells, Noct simply pulled the sword closer and grabbed Sorak by the throat. Not missing the opening, she broke his nose with a heavy punch, causing Noct to throw her fifteen metres backwards. Clad in heavy armour, only her faith, or sheer luck, prevented her back from breaking upon impact.
She heard the sound of steel breaking and falling pieces near the ground.
“You can’t smite me, paladin!” Noct roared, pain evident in his voice. “Bring the Inquisition, an army, or something worthy of my time before I decide to snuff your fire like a candle in a storm!”
Pain finally awakening herself to her folly, she ignored her pain and got up from the ground, quickly retreating from the floor.
Noct sat back on the throne, healing magic already fixing his broken nose. “Do be late on returning, though.” He mumbled to the empty room. “I despise dealing with the hypocrisy of your church. You carry weapons for the same reason my guards, that I do. Your forces of ‘Protection and Compassion’ are but another tool to rule over the masses. The same force I use to administer my…this realm.
Having calmed down after those words, he flexed his gauntlet, the spell circles in it repairing the damage that being almost melted off had done. ‘At least she has both honour and bravado. If only he had a tenth of that in patience and wit she would make an excellent retainer for the baroness. She will do nonetheless.’
…………….
Sorak walked as fast as her sore back and legs could carry her. Her mind was unquiet, making it difficult for her healing prayers to be effective. The empty and claustrophobic corridors didn’t help either, as she expected enemies behind every shadow. She was surprised she had managed ten steps without a blade finding its way into her back.
Yet, for her, they were also a representation of the man she had left in that room. An illusion of grandeur filled with nothing of relevance. Her entourage was back, not daring to utter a word after their shameful display but brimming with the same fury as her. Oh, she would return. That she knew in her heart. With the army he had asked. This she swore to her Goddess
Once she was near the entrance of the castle, she was surprised by the appearance of Andras, the old High Commander of the barony, who was a few steps behind the current heir to the barony. Soral of the Ashen.
“My Lady.” Ignoring her pain, Sorak kneeled and bowed her head. Her fellow paladins replicated the gesture.
Soral curtsied and greeted back, “It’s an honour to meet you this day, High Paladin Sora. May good be met with better…”
“And may evil be turned good by compassion.” She raised her head. “What do you require from me, my Lady?”
Her hand clenched a document inside the pocket of her dress. “My brother has decided to start letting me grab the reins of the barony. High Commander Andras here has chosen to be the first of my retainers.”
Andras bowed, the conflicted look in his eyes becoming stronger after hearing the unbridled hate in the work ‘brother’.
“And I would be honoured if you would choose to become my second.”
Sorak gaze fell to the ground. “I fear that, after having declared your brother an enemy of the church, me associating with yourself, my Lady, would pose more a danger than a benefit.”
“Don’t fear for that. Trust me in that my brother won’t harm me.” Soral said with certainty. “And, talking about declaring my brother an enemy, I would be of help with compiling information about his wrong doings. He has, after all, gifted me access to the ledger.”
Soral kneeled to be eye to eye with Sorak. “If you would join me, you would also be able to defend me. The new men at arms I will build together with your and the church’s loyalty will grant me the ability to dethrone him myself. Trust me and Noct’s control over the barony will decrease week after week.”
Lowering her head again, Sorak vowed, “If you will rule as justly as your mother, may the White Rivers wash her, I, High Paladin of Elenia, Goddess of Protection and Compassion, named Sorak, swear fealty to you and your cause.”
………………….