Twenty-Two
Marcus’ armor had finally regained its previous luster. The waning sunlight streaming through his window gave depth to the many intricate etchings covering the cold metal. At first, Marcus didn’t much care for the many blooming flowers and leafy vines crawling across the silver steel, but now he found them to be quite pleasing to the eye and was once again amazed by the craftsmanship of the armor as he slipped himself into it.
It was very nearly time for Alissa to meet with Marquis Mayweather. It was to be over a formal dinner , and all of the higher-ups within the city were invited. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, especially since he wouldn’t be able to eat any of the food. His role was to stand silently behind Lady Dresden as her personal guard, thus the reason his armor had to be in pristine condition.
He clasped his crimson mantel onto his shoulders. The silver thread embroidered into the edges reflected the light into an array of iridescent colors. Luckily, the large cape was packed away when they were attacked by those monsters, so he didn’t have to clean it. That would have taken him forever to get all of that gunk out of the thick fabric.
Ready, he donned his helmet and moved towards the door. Alissa wouldn’t be ready to go for at least another thirty minutes, but Marcus had no problem waiting for her. Even though this was an unexpected stop during their journey, it was one that was still extremely important. There were certain mores one had to follow when dealing with visiting nobility, especially when they were to be engaged to royalty.
Everything had to be perfect.
As Alissa exited the room, that was the only word that came to mind. A flowing emerald dress concealed her lithe frame, whose image was still so fresh in his mind from the night before. Its wide straps just barely covered the pale flesh of her shoulders, and a deep cut hinted at the idea of her meager cleavage but fell short of satisfying any curiosity. Her hair was in its usual style of loose, golden curls, but her long bangs were tied back underneath a shimmering tiara encrusted with diamonds of every size and cut.
She looked at him with smoky eyes lined with kohl, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her rose-painted lips. She didn’t say a word to him, as they were not alone. A common maid stood directly behind her, her eyes downcast and her hands locked at her sides.
“I am not familiar with the layout of the manor,” Lady Alissa’s cold and arrogant voice filled the wide hall around them, prompting a reaction from the maid behind her.
“Of course, my lady.” Keeping her eyes on the golden runner, the maid took off down the hall, leading them both to the dining hall.
Weighed down by his full suit of armor, Marcus’ steps were heavy and barely muffled by the thick wool of the runners, flooding the long corridors with a thudding metronome that preceded their arrival into the dining hall. Marcus wasn’t told who was to attend the dinner that night, but from the number of seats filled along the long table, could tell that, other than the Marquis himself, they were the last to arrive.
The hall was only half the size of Duke Dresden’s, and the table reflected that difference. White oak made up the top of the table, one solid piece from end to end. It was at least six feet wide and several inches thick, held up by matching legs as thick as Marcus’ own. The entire contraption must have weighed several thousand pounds, double that with the amount of food, drink, and cutlery resting atop it.
Chairs, constructed out of what must have been the same tree, lined the sides of the long table. All of them but the one at the end and the one next to it were occupied by an eclectic group of men and women. Their ages ran the gamut from ancient to hardly of legal age, and their choices in fashion mirrored the decades represented in the room. Marcus saw the usual multi-colored vests over puffy-sleeved shirts on many of the men, and their accompanying women adorned themselves in long dresses in the same style as Alissa’s. However, the older attendees seemed to prefer more muted colors of blacks, grays, and browns, and the style of clothing was missing the vests with much tighter fabric covering their arms.
Hushed conversations stopped completely as Marcus’ heavy footfalls echoed around the hall. Their eyes were wide in surprise and astonishment as they flicked between him and Alissa as if they couldn’t decide what was more striking: Alissa’s charming beauty or the hulking behemoth of flesh and steel shadowing her. Alissa was shown to her seat, the one to the left of the empty chair at the head of the table , while Marcus took up his own position directly behind her, standing motionlessly against the wall.
Alissa nodded to all those present, acknowledging them in a small way before the actual introductions were to take place. Of course, she didn’t know anyone there, save for Sir Caldwell seated at the opposite end of the long table, but he seemed just as uninterested as she was in any conversation.
Marcus let his gauntleted hand rest on the hilt of his short sword. He wore it on his hip in lieu of his much larger warhammer that he preferred. He was surprised that they had allowed him to carry a weapon at all, but then he thought back to the night he had met Jorel and when he had thought about harming him and his inability to do so. Branded slaves weren’t capable of harming anyone outside of very specific conditions, so no one thought twice about giving him a weapon.
And it wasn’t as if he was the only armed guard there.
Not every person there had brought along a personal guard, but many of them did. Although he was by far the largest of the men standing at attention along the walls, he wasn’t the meanest looking of their group. That honor went to one particularly gruff-looking man in leather armor over a chainmail shirt. He had a shaved head, polished to a blinding sheen, two missing fingers on what Marcus assumed to be his sword arm, and deep scaring over his neck and part of his face that looked to be from a fire.
The man couldn’t see Marcus’ eyes through the small slit in his helmet, but Marcus could see his. They moved over his elegant armor with a covetous gaze, that he quickly schooled as he looked to the man sitting across from Alissa. Marcus had to wonder if that was the man he was here to protect and if he was unhappy with the terms of his employment. Some men always wanted more.
The man sitting across from Lady Alissa, on closer inspection, was almost too young to be considered one. He was thin and willowy, and his eyes were placed much too closely together to be considered attractive. His hair was a sandy blonde and fell loosely past his thin jaw in dull waves, and he smiled at Alissa in a way that made even Marcus uncomfortable.
Marcus hated to say it, but he was happy that he just had to stand there and not talk to anyone.
The conversations filling the room were vapid and of little substance. Alissa herself had been dragged into talking to the reedy young man about the importance of his own position, which was the city’s guard overseer, a job procured purely through nepotism as he was the Marquis’ youngest son. It was obvious to him that the young man loved the sound of his own voice.
“Marquis Reginald Mayweather.” A voice proclaimed from the side of the room, capturing everyone’s attention and silencing the myriad voices. Everyone rose to their feet, offering the portly man low bows. Alissa also stood, but only barely inclined her head as she was technically of higher rank than the older man.
“Welcome, welcome,” Marquis Mayweather intoned, his voice deep with a hint of a lisp. “Old friends and new. I wish to welcome Lady Dresden to our wonderful city. Please, enjoy the feast and make her feel at home.”
““Welcome.”” A chorus of voices filled the hall, all directed at Lady Alissa. She returned the greeting with a nod of her head, her blonde curls bouncing as her head moved.
“I wish to voice my appreciation for the warm welcome,” Alissa said in a kind tone, a small smile gracing her lips. “I have traveled far from my home, and even though I was not expecting to come to Kilnfire, I can say that I am happy to have experienced the kindness you have shown me thus far.” She turned to look at Marquis Mayweather as the man stood behind his chair. “Marquis Mayweather, thank you for showing me such hospitality on such short notice. I will never forget your compassion.”
Her words brought a wide smile to the man's plump face, his teeth showing in anticipation of what he might gain in the future. It was almost certain that he knew of her impending marriage to the third prince, and even though the prince had very little chance of ascending to the throne, the marquis could still greatly benefit by getting on his good side.
“Speak nothing of it.” He said, waving his hand towards the table. “Now, let us enjoy the night and take advantage of the opportunity presented to us to get to know each other better. Now, please, eat.”
“Hazah!” One of the older gentlemen yelled out as he sat down and picked up his waiting goblet before bringing it to his lips.
The others quickly mimicked him in their own way, sampling the table’s offerings while reigniting their previous conversations.
“Lady Dresden,” Marquis Mayweather started as he plopped into his chair, stressing its joints with an audible and ominous creak . “I pray that you have recovered from your harrowing experience. I have heard tell of what had happened.”
“Thank you so much, Marquis Mayweather,” She answered him, internally relieved to have an out from the inane ramblings of the man’s son across from her. “I am well. Luckily, I was well insulated from that awful night, thanks to my personal guard… and Sir Caldwell, of course.”
Marquis Mayweather’s eyes glanced to Marcus in his shining armor etched with lovely fillagree. It was like he had only just now laid eyes on him and couldn’t help it as a sharp intake of breath filled his lungs, causing his jowls to jiggle slightly. “He is a slave, correct?”
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“…he is.”
“How much?” He asked, leaning back into his chair in a wave of flesh, stretched silk, and overpowering perfume. “Of course, I would never deprive you of your protection, but once you reach the palace, your safety is all but assured.”
“Forgive me,” Lady Alissa’s stilted voice filled the short distance between them. “But he is not for sale.”
“Ah, well, I will not press the issue. Just keep me in mind should you ever decide to rid yourself of it.” The Marquis spoke in a jovial tone, missing the slight twitch in the corner of Alissa’s eye. He directed his eyes to his son sitting to his right. “My son is in need of a new guard. His is no longer worth the money we pay him.”
His words were harsh and earned the marquis a baleful glare from the burned man standing against the wall. His son, Thomas Mayweather, chuckled at his father’s words as he nodded in agreement. “Yes, it is true. He proved his worth when we were set upon by those horrid kobolds, but ever since then, he can hardly hold his sword.”
“He was injured defending you?” Alissa asked Thomas, her deep, cerulean eyes going to the man standing behind him.
“He was doing his job… and poorly at that,” Thomas sniffed as he gulped down the crimson liquid in his cup. “He let one of those little cretins kill one of my favorite mares…”
“To save my man!” His guard roared in anger from behind him. “While you were pissing yourself, cowering inside that nauseating carriage of yours, men were dying, and all you cared about was your fucking horse!”
He took a step towards the rangy young man, his mangled hand on the hilt of his sword. It didn’t look like he was a slave, and that meant there were no restrictions placed on him when it came to killing. Marcus moved immediately, appearing right behind Lady Alissa. His massive form cast a shadow over the entire table, eclipsing the guard and tampering down the rage that burned within him.
He looked up from glaring at Thomas Mayweather and into the dark slit of Marcus’ visor. The burn scars running up from his neck stretched with the grimace that had spread across his face. “If you want this ogre so badly, then so be it!”
He stomped out of the room with those final words, kicking the door open with a tremendous bang . Silence permeated the dining hall, the servants and guests too afraid to speak as they watched the Marquis’ face turn crimson with boiling ire. It looked as if he was on the cusp of a stroke before his trembling came back under his control.
“Alexander!” Marquis Mayweather barked, causing a male servant to rush over on silent steps. It was the same man that had led him and Alissa to their rooms and the same one that had fed him the insulting stew for breakfast. “Answer this insult in kind. Do you understand?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“And do it loudly,” the marquis hissed with quivering jowls.
“Yes, my lord.”
Slowly, the conversations started back up again, most of them now on the subject of what had happened and the grim future of the now ex-guard. Marcus returned to his place against the wall, his deep frown hidden beneath his steel helm. Alissa, on the other hand, was unable to hide her emotions underneath cold metal, so she was forced to don her mask of indifference that she had honed over the years when dealing with other nobles. It was hard for her to do when faced with such injustice , but it was unfortunately necessary.
“Forgive me for that bit of unpleasantness,” Marquis Mayweather said, taking a deep breath. “I can assure you that it will be handled appropriately.”
Alissa gave the fat man a stiff nod, “All is forgiven. Although, I wonder if you would humor a request?”
“Of course, please, ask of me anything that you wish.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, “I only ask that the penance for his ill behavior touches only him.”
“That goes without saying, Lady Dresden. I am not a man without mercy. Now, let us talk of this no longer, I wish to hear about life in Lorenth. It has been some time since I was there, and I pray that I will be able to visit again in the future.” Marquis Mayweather stated as he guided the conversation to a much lighter topic.
Lady Alissa had no choice but to go along with it and, in doing so, steered the other conversations around them in the same direction. Marcus once again drowned out the words around him, only paying attention to the movements of the people that filled the dining room.
The dinner dragged on, the many courses finally changing into much sweeter affair. A massive cake iced with fluffy whipped cream and topped with fat cherries was wheeled out atop a metal cart. The room hummed with anticipation as the servants cut into the confectionary delight, the look and smell of it making Marcus’ mouth water and his stomach gurgle in envy of those around him. Not one to miss out on treats, Marquis Mayweather commissioned the largest piece, topped with the juiciest cherries dripping with thick syrup.
“Lady Dresden,” Marquis Mayweather said with a huff. “I understand that you are on a time restraint, and with that in mind, I have allowed Sir Caldwell to make use of my own men for your protection.”
Alissa turned her head and looked down the long table to Sir Caldwell, who gave her a slight nod. “Lord Mayweather is very kind to lend us the aid. It will help us greatly during the final leg of our journey to the palace.”
“Thomas has even agreed to accompany you!” The marquis interjected, his son grinning like a fool. “As overseer of the city guard, he would be remiss if they failed to live up to their sterling reputation. So, he will head to the capital with you to ensure their professionalism and your own safety.”
“…oh…” Lady Alissa stumbled as she searched for her next words. She didn’t know what to expect in terms of getting to the Pol Trulant royal palace, but it wasn’t to be accompanied by a man no older than she was but as many times as smug. “That… that is wonderful to hear. But what of the men that were injured? Surely the healers should have seen to them by now. They would surely be enough to see us to the capital. It would trouble me to know that my needs placed such a burden on you and your men.”
“Really, it is no trouble, so think nothing of it.” Thomas pipped up from the side, taking over the conversation from his father. “And Sir Caldwell’s men have yet to recover. It would appear that those old fools are having difficulty driving out whatever is plaguing them.”
“That is unfortunate to hear,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Marcus, standing against the wall, latched on to the words the young man had said. If the healers were having trouble getting rid of whatever disease was festering inside the injured men, it was very likely that it could spread. He could only hope that if they didn’t recover, the sickness would kill them and not turn them into the hideous monsters he fought that night.
A loud bang from the table nearly made Marcus jump as he was lost in his musings. His eyes darted over to the slovenly marquis; his face was beet red, and he had one hand grasping at his throat, the other hitting the table in desperate slaps that failed even to make the cutlery rattle. Alissa looked at him with alarm and hesitation while his son toppled his own chair over as he stood and started screaming for a healer.
One of the marquis’ guards rushed over and started beating the man on the back, to little effect. A harried commotion filled the room as his face turned from red to blue, his eyes wide and frantic and filled with terror. Marcus could even hear sobs coming from somewhere as the marquis slowly choked to death.
Not willing to simply stand around while someone slowly died, no matter how unpleasant they were, Marcus left his post and pushed aside the frantic guard, nearly knocking him off of his feet. Ignoring the irate protest and the sound of weapons being drawn, Marcus heaved the overly plump man from his chair like plucking a potato from loose soil.
Marcus’ arms were barely long enough to wrap around the Marquis’ waist, and it appeared that the man had given up on trying to support his own weight. Still, Marcus was able to keep him on his feet and wasted no time in jerking in and up. He was careful not to use too much of his strength. He only wanted out what he was choking on, not the man’s innards.
After a few quick thrusts, he felt it. With a wet thunk , a round and rosy cherry arched through the air and landed on the table, bouncing and rolling some length before stalling out inside someone’s half-eaten casserole. The low murmurs and sighs of relief were only exceeded by the ragged breathing of the Marquis. He coughed and sputtered a few more times as he caught his breath, his color shortly returning to normal before he turned to look up into Marcus’ concealed face. “I will forgive you touching me this once, slave , but there will not be a second time.”
“Marquis Mayweather! That……” Alissa shouted out, her anger on Marcus’ behalf growing out of control for only a moment before she was able to rein it back in. “Are… are you alright?”
He gave Marcus one final glare before turning to answer Lady Alissa, “I am fine. Thank you for your concern.” He then addressed the rest of his guests, his voice breaking only slightly. “I only now remembered a previous engagement that is of great importance. I ask everyone for their understanding. Thomas, I leave it to you to coordinate with Sir Caldwell. Lady Dresden, my lovely wife, Abigail, is returning to the manor on the marrow and wishes to take tea with you. I will have a servant alert you to the time.” He paused to take another rattling breath, “Everyone, please enjoy the rest of the evening.”