“Yes, actually,” Alaric lowered the scroll.

“Who are you people?” Duke Fairshield bellowed. “Kethyrll, what are you doing in here? Don’t tell me. It’s too hot? No, no, it’s too cold. No that’s not it. Oh, I know. For the last time, you cannot have another goose feather pillow. Hey, you’re the one that broke the general’s hip. Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused? No matter, he can still give orders to his troops. Wait, what’s that in your—.”

The gasp from the duke was the sound of twisting metal—high-pitched and grating. Galen Fairshield’s face paled as his eyes widened in horror. He raised a trembling, bedazzled ringed finger that waved like a ball at the end of a spring and pointed to the scroll in Alaric’s hand. His mouth moved at a frantic pace, but no sound came out.

Alaric frowned. He saw Elara spin around and freeze from the corner of his eye. He turned slightly towards his companion, her eyes fixated on the golden sealing stamping. Kethryll started muttering and shifting on his feet between Fairshield and Alaric, as if unsure what to do.

“To answer your first question,” Alaric started to move around the desk. “I am Alaric, Hero of the whatnot and so forth. It doesn’t matter. I’m here on behalf of the crown to put a stop to whatever it is you are doing here. As for your second question, your guards are no match for my—.”

Kethryll put his hand out to stop Alaric from walking passing him.

“Yes, yes,” the duke spat. “It’s hard to find good help. Now give me that!”

Alaric tightened his grip, and the scroll crunched in his hand. Fairshield gasped again, then lunged at Alaric, snatching the end of the scroll. Kethyrll wheezed as he clutched the hand that held the sealing stamp.

“Let go.”

“You let go.”

“Never!”

With the clump of bodies clambering over the scroll, Alaric thought he saw the flash of a blade. Instinctively, he drove forward with his shoulder, knocking both the Duke Fairshield and Kethyrll to the ground. Gasps of air released from both men, then the familiar whimpering of pain,

“Not again,” Alaric winced.

Elara leaned down to take the sealing stamp from Fairshield. He wrapped both hands around it and squeezed it close to his chest.

“Mine,” the duke's legs thrashed about, like a toddler learning how to swim, and struck Elara in the stomach. A darkness washed over her face the likes of which Alaric had never seen even on the most vicious demons that he’d battled.

“Stop!” Alaric bellowed.

Three sets of eyes turned to him in unison. All burrowing into him.

“On your feet,” Alaric continued. “You’re under arrest.”

“What did I do?” Kethryll moaned as he got to his feet with great exertion.

“Not you,” the words stumbled from Alaric as he shook his head in confusion. “The duke.”

“Under who’s authority?” Duke Fairshield rose to his feet, the sealing stamp still pressed to his chest, then angled his back, hunched over, toward Elara. “Are you a constable? Do you have a warrant? A writ? Or even a clue?”

“Uh,” Alaric scratched his head. “Technically, no. But that’s not the point.”

“Oh,” the duke's eyebrows rose. “But that is the point. The point of all of this. The legality of it all. Of what you are doing, what I’ve done. And the world that resides in carefully crafted words.”

Fairshield’s eyes flicked to the scroll in Alaric’s hand for a moment. Alaric moved the scroll closer to the oil lamp's flame on the desk.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” the duke stepped forward. “I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement?”

The flame licked the edge of the scroll.

“Do you even realise what you’re holding!”

“Then tell me,” Alaric waved the scroll back and forth above the flame. Thin grey tendrils webbed to the ceiling. The acrid scent of burnt paper lingered in the air. A delicate hint of ash crumbled from the edge.

“No,” Fairshield’s jaw set in place.

“The sealing stamp for the scroll,” Alaric offered.

“Let me read it first,” Kethryll wiggled his fingers at Alaric. “We can’t make a blind trade.”

The duke took a step backwards.

“The seal, Duke,” Elara blocked the doorway. “Now.”

Fairshield looked at all three, slowly, sizing them up. Alaric’s eyes tightened on the duke.

“Fine,” The duke held the sealing stamp to his side. Kethryll made to take it, but Elara snatched it first. The duke lunged at Alaric and grabbed the scroll. He inspected the burnt edge and let out a sigh of relief.

“Uh, Alaric,” Kethyrll said.

Alaric took Fairshield by the collar. “Now, you’re going to answer a few questions.”

A high-pitched sizzling filled the air.

“Alaric, a word,” Kethyrll tugged at Alaric’s sleeve.

“Not now,” Alaric shot Kethryll a glare then turned his attention back to the duke in his hands. “Why were you flooding the realm with counterfeit coins? Who are your accomplices? Why don’t the kitchen staff have a standardized break time? What were you planning to do with the new seals?”

“Alaric!” Kethyrll cried out.

“What?” He looked up to see Elara’s face half-shrouded by her purple hooded cloak, the air around her glistening. In one hand, she held the sealing stamp, the other was the missing ball from the workshop. The end of the wick was covered in a glow of sparks that crackled as it edged closer to the ball.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Elara?” Alaric frowned.

She gave him a wicked smile.

The spattering flame was on the precipice of entering the ball. She lobbed the black clay ball into the middle of the room. Alaric traced the arc of the ball. A sharp, acrid whisper of burnt sulphur and charred earth struck his nose. Eyes widened. Time slowed down as he saw sputtering flame enter the ball.

Simultaneously, Elara phased into a purple light and then streaked out of the room as a rolling wave of white flame expanded in all directions from the ball, its roar like a thunderous tidal surge. Alaric reached out and grabbed Kethyrll by the collar of his filthy garments and pulled him close. With both Fairshield and Kethryll held tight, Alaric launched himself backwards through the giant window.

Thousands of tiny shards of glass twisted around Alaric, reflecting the night sky and the outdoor lamps of the patio area. The shards danced and sparkled before speeding up, riding the shockwave that chased Alaric.

The orange and red rolling flame surged forward, a voracious beast eager to engulf everything in its path. Alaric could feel the heat intensifying, the wave of fire roaring towards them like a dragon’s breath.

Alaric tightened his grip on the duke and Kethryll, pulling them closer, but the sheer force of the flame's wake washed over them.

Everything turned white.

Alaric felt his body slam against the stone tiles of the patio area. The impact was tremendous; dust and rocks flew up in all directions, creating a small crater where he landed. The duke and Kethryll landed heavily on top of Alaric, their combined weight pressing down on him.

Screams and curses erupted all around.

Kethyrll and the duke groaned as they rose to their feet, using Alaric's body to push themselves upright, then clamber from the small impact crater. Smoke curled up from their hair, still smouldering from the fiery wave. Their faces were smeared with ash, giving them a ghostly appearance. Alaric gasped for air, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his bearings amidst the rubble and chaos.

People ran in all directions. Flames bellowed from the duke’s office. Debris rained down. Spot fires started.

The duke looked at the scroll in his shaky hand. A breeze passed over them. The scroll crumbed to ash and rode the air like a kaleidoscope of plaid butterflies. He waved at the air in a futile attempt to capture the fleeing remnants. His bottom lip quivered before he collapsed to his knees.

Kethyrll, with his hands on his head, shuffled in a slow circle, eyeing the damaged surroundings. His mouth gaped open. He flinched, then patted down his chest until he found the strap of the knapsack across his body. He spun the knapsack around, opened it, and dove his hand in, pulled out a handful of coins, then let them slip through his fingers back into the knapsack. He let out a sigh and gave Alaric a wink.

Alaric staggered to his feet, his legs still trembling from the force of the explosion. He brushed off the dust and debris that clung to his cloak, his heart racing as he surveyed the scene. The mansion, once a proud edifice of stone and timber, now stood as a blazing monument to ambition gone awry. Flames licked hungrily at the night sky, illuminating the chaos that had erupted in the wake of their confrontation. He let out a low whistle. “Would you look at that.”

“You!”

Alaric looked over both shoulders before his gaze shifted to the duke, who stood amidst the chaos, his face a mask of fury and despair. “Me?”

“Yes, you dim-witted fool,” the duke bellowed, his voice crackling like the flames. “You’ve ruined everything!”

Beams groaned than snapped. A section of roof collapsed into the mansion, sending a wave of embers up into the darkness. The last of the guests were gone. Guards dropped their weapons in their haste, and waitstaff fled with handfuls of silverware. A small figure carrying folds of skin in each arm like overweight suitcases waddled through the arched exit and disappeared in the gloom.

“Hold on now,” Alaric raised his sooty palms.

“That document was to be the foundation of a new nation!” the duke stepped toward Alaric waving a fist in the air. Smoke trailed from his hair. “A charter of greatness, not just a piece of parchment. It was a declaration of intent to reshape the very fabric of our society! Imagine a world where power is not hoarded by a select few but shared among the people—electing leaders from landowners, merchants, and common folk alike! And you’ve destroyed it.”

Alaric turned to Kethryll who was rubbing his chin, mulling over the duke’s words. He then faced the duke then opened his mouth deliver a well-thought-out reply. “Ahhh.”

“It’s a noble ideal, Duke,” Kethyrll placed a hand on the Fairshield’s shoulder. The frazzled duke shrugged it off and waved his fists in the air. The artist scampered back a step and waved his fist in an erratic pattern.

“Hey,” Alaric stepped between the two. “Settle down.”

The two combatants lowered their clenched fists.

“Noble? Maybe, Alaric continued, “But what good is that when you’ve flooded the realm with counterfeit coins and bogus deeds? You’ve sown chaos, not change.”

Fairshield’s ash-covered face flushed with indignation, his eyes blazing with a fervor. He rushed towards Alaric and pounded the base of his fists into Alaric’s chest. Alaric swatted him back.

“I needed to rouse the people!” Fairshield pulled at his hair. “To inspire them for change! It’s better than letting a war or plague devastate the population, forcing change through suffering. This was about empowering the people, giving them a democracy!”

“Dem-who?”

The duke let out a bellowing cry as he ripped clumps of hair from the roots.

“Never mind,” Alaric shook his head. “You think that inciting chaos is the way to empower the people? You’ve turned their lives upside down! What do you think will happen when they realize the truth?”

The duke’s right eye twitched.

“Change through unity rather than bloodshed.” Kethryll stepped forward, his brows furrowed, “But Alaric has a point. The means do matter.”

“You don’t understand,” the duke’s shoulders slumped, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “The people are restless. They need a spark, a reason to rise up against the old ways. This was my chance to give them that.”

“But at what cost?” Alaric looked around. “You’ve set fire to your own home, both literally and figuratively. You think they’ll rally behind you when they see the destruction you’ve caused?”

Another wall crumbled into the flames. The duke, a shadow of his former self, ambled from the courtyard to the grass area that overlooked the estate gardens, then sank to the ground.

“Perhaps there’s merit in what the duke says.” Kethryll moved next to Alaric. “Change is often born from turmoil. But it must be guided, not chaotic.”

Alaric felt a surge of frustration. “Guided? You think this is guidance? This is madness. The people need stability, not more upheaval.”

“Who are we to know what the people want,” Kethyrll shrugged.

“What’s that saying?” Alaric started towards the grass. “The old must burn away for the new to rise.”

“I think you just made that up.”

“Probably.”

Alaric stood next to the duke who sat with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them tight, staring at nothing. Alaric turned back and raise a hand to shield his eyes from glare of the flames. What was left of the collapsed walls of the mansion held the fire like a crucible.

Alaric sat down next to the duke. Kethryll joined him a moment later.

A crack. From the gardens, a high-pitched whizzing. A ball of light with a trail of sparks raced for the sky. Another explosion and the sky as illuminated by a flood of multi-coloured sparks.

“By the gods,” Alaric gasped. “What was that?”

Fairshield raised his head. “They’re called ‘fireworks.”

“That’s what the gunpower was for?” Alaric traced the path of another firework screaming high in the air. “You weren’t going to blow up the nobles?”

“I had planned this to celebrate the ushering in of a new era,” the duke murmured, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of fireworks. “The nobles were going to sign the charter.”

“And you were going to ratify it with the royal seal?” Kethyrll leaned past Alaric.

The duke nodded.

Dozens of fireworks now filled the sky. Each a different colour.

“Now Elara has the seal,” Alaric leaned back watching the display high above.

“Marcia,” Kethryll snapped his fingers. “That’s how I recognised her. Marcia, the Purple Shadow. A thief who is quick and elusive, skilled in picking vaults and noble pockets without a trace. A woman with grace and danger. You didn’t recognise her?”

“Yeah,” The duke turned to Alaric. “You didn’t recognise her?”

“I guess not,” Alaric let out a sigh.

“No matter,” Kethyrll took the letter-opening knife from his sleeve and tossed it aside. “I scored the face of the seal. It would be useless to her now.”

The three men watched until the last of the fireworks faded.

“You think they’ll forgive me?” Galen Fairshield laid his head on the grass.

Alaric shrugged then rested his head on the soft grass.