CHAPTER NINETEEN
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Alaric Sampson
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18th of Decepter, 935 PC
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The town of Thronerock’s story was one of gruesome details; an overthrow of a government, hangings of nobles, looting and fighting, all the fixings found in an uprising that could make waves throughout the empire. Yet, when Alaric tried to learn more information about it, not a single local would say a word. He’d known right away that this would be where he stationed his resistance while he prepared his assault on the Lotus Queen. There was immeasurable value to being surrounded by people who considered their words a unique kind of weapon being handed to an enemy. However, to dismiss any niggling paranoia, he treated the poor commoners of Thronerock in a way that they hadn’t been treated in decades, as if they mattered. He’d invite them to the Black Boar Inn once a month for a complimentary feast and personally hand out half a Leo for every guest that attended. He was loved, respected, and most importantly, needed. An expense, yes, in every sense of the word, but one that formed a wall of secrecy around the inn.
His advisor, Tripelthin Styner, didn’t feel quite the same way about the lawless town. Evident by the curled frown on his face as they stared out the window at the unimpressive skyline across the field. They sat side by side in chairs so nice they didn’t belong in Thronerock, separated by a stand made of exotic wood and carved by even more exotic people. The highfalutin scholar had spent his first month here bringing his room up to his standards, claiming there was simply no way for him to think clearly in such a dismal atmosphere. Only once his room met his standards did they get to work on the most important plan in the history of the Thandlecor Empire. Priorities, he’d called it.
“Hard to believe places like this exist,” Tripelthin said, lifting a Botahana Brown to his lips. He snapped his fingers and ignited a flame at the end of his thumb. Alaric was never quite sure if the snap was necessary but it did add a nice bit of pizzazz to the man’s magic. Tripelthin lit his cigar and shook out the flame like he’d done it a thousand times before. Most made smoking a Botahana Brown a special occasion, as rare as they were, but some considered it the standard when enjoying a smoke. Tripelthin was the latter. Not surprising of a man whose entire image screamed affluency. His elegant blue robes and floppy scholar’s hat were made of fabrics too rare to know the name of and the leather pattens on his feet were a gift from a king – a fact he didn’t hesitate to mention regularly. Even the pillows under his eyes looked more expensive than anything else in the town. His sun-bathed skin was a tone that most would pay money for and his round stomach was indicative of a man with wealth. Especially when the locals were so poorly nourished that to see them in person often made Alaric regret not doing more for commoners when he had the influence to do so.
“What else would you expect a town full of criminals to look like?” Alaric asked. Years of neglect and lack of organized government had left the whole place anxious to blow away with the wind. The only thing holding it back were the desperate people that clung to the scraps of protection the pitiful buildings provided. “Thronerock was destined to die the moment the nobles were overthrown.”
“A convenient tragedy.”
Indeed. It was common knowledge that Thronerock was on its way out, nearly desolate and possessing only the kind of people that don’t understand how to turn the tides of decay. Most mapmakers no longer marked the town at all as preparation for the inevitable. Iris would never step foot in such a place, if she’d even heard of it.
Tripelthin said, “Manaya.” A woman dressed in black suede from head to toe stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room. She was silent and stoic, like a good subordinate should be. A thin but sturdy chain was draped over her shoulders and across her chest. One would think she’d become entangled in it upon the slightest movement, but such was not the case. Rather, Alaric had seen her use it to restrain men twice her size during fights. She had choked one to death upon Tripelthin’s command without so much as a hesitation. And when the chains didn’t work, she could always rely on her ability to see in the dark to catch a man off guard. A fact that was not wasted on Alaric.
Manaya Tellimani only spoke when absolutely necessary and now was not one of those times. She simply stared at her employer, waiting for whatever task would be assigned.
“Fetch the wine, if you would,” Tripelthin said.
Alaric brought his foot across his knee and held his ankle, pulling the cigar from his lips and tapping the ashes onto the floor before laying it on the edge of the stand between them. “Urman has put us in quite a predicament hasn't he?”
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“I’d like to say we have the wits about us to adapt, but The Creator would know I was lying.”
“Surely one of your books says something about this…” Tripelthin had read more books on war than Alaric had read on all subjects combined and Alaric was no stranger to a good book himself.
Manaya returned with a bottle of wine Tripelthin had gotten in Serelle along with two tin cups that were apparently beneath the scholar’s standards based on the disapproving glance he gave them. The sellsword of sorts poured them each twenty Leos worth of wine, or half a glass, and returned to her humble abode in the corner.
Tripelthin said, “Sadly, we’re fighting a war unlike any other before it. We are writing history, not reading about it.”
“I don’t suppose you think Iris is equally fucked by some equally unfortunate series of events?”
“She would have been, had it not been for Urman Gant,” Tripelthin said before taking a sip of the liquid gold in his cup. He looked at Alaric over the brim with wide-eyes full of sarcastic self-pity.
Alaric’s dour mood only worsened as he thought about the traitorous commoner reveling in his success. Nothing compared to Diedro’s words though. Or more accurately, the fact that he’d managed to prove the mercenary right mere days after their discussion. Of course, Diedro didn’t know that. Alaric had waited until the man was asleep to have Jameson and Elgar toss Capricia's body over the cliff and into the rocks below. Aunt Bethunia would find out eventually, but he never planned on seeing her again anyway. Without Capricia there was no reason to protect The Hawk’s Nest any longer.
“What are Narah’s thoughts?” Tripelthin asked.
Narah Loe and her brother, Shade, were Yilans – people of war. They’d come to Thronerock on their own when they’d heard about Alaric’s cause. He was an assassin with magical elegance; artistic movement, feet and blades. Her magic allowed the sands of time to flow through her fingertips. A single lay of her hand could age a man decades. Naturally, she had a bit of an interest in time, and more importantly, not wasting it. She’d been the first person Alaric had spoken to upon returning from gathering up Maddy. She’d accepted the task of reorganizing his plan with such determination that it had birthed a glimmer of hope within him.
“I haven’t spoken to her since I gave her the task. Fierce woman, no need to disturb her unnecessarily,” Alaric said.
“No wiser words will be spoken today.”
“I’d expect we’ll be on the road in two days’ time. Three at the most.”
Tripelthin took another puff of his cigar, nodding his head as if impressed by the Yilan. “I must admit, it will be nice to finally get out of this shithole.”
“Must admit?” Alaric said. “You’ve made it quite clear from the beginning you’d rather be anywhere than here.”
He gave Alaric a coy grin. “Have I? I didn’t realize.”
Alaric swirled the wine around in his cup with a mindless rhythm of his wrist as Tripelthin sucked on his cigar.
“Do you think I’m evil?” Alaric asked so suddenly that Tripelthin coughed out smoke with the tact of a commoner.
Tripelthin cleared his throat. “Come again…”
“Do you think I’m evil? I’d have to be to do the things I’ve done, wouldn’t I? Or perhaps what I’ve had to do has made me evil…”
The advisor made the face he always made before he intended to advise before taking a long, deep pull from the cigar. He held the smoke with satisfaction then let it go slowly through his nose, bit by bit. The moonlight pouring through the window cut through the cloud forming in front of them like it wasn’t even there. “No. I don’t think you’re evil. I think you’re scared. Lords, we’re all scared. I would think of any of us, you’d be the most entitled to a bit of fear. It’s you that finds yourself in a role no one else was willing to take. And you’re doing better than anyone could ask of you, I might add.” He paused to take a drink. “This may not be a traditional war, but it is a war nonetheless and times like these can insist you do things you wouldn’t do in times of peace.”
Alaric wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He was glad to not be thought of as something evil, though Capricia might argue against that, but he didn’t like knowing that he looked scared. His father had always told him that fear was easy to exploit. “Where would you draw the line?”
“Oh, yes. The proverbial line in the sand. Every great general asks themselves that same question at some point. I’m afraid if history tells us anything on this subject, it’s that the less reasonable of two foes often decides where that line is drawn.”
They let the room fall silent as that thought sank in.
It was Alaric that broke that silence. “There won’t be a line drawn with Iris, will there?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s made it quite clear she has no boundaries, no limits to the atrocities she’ll commit. You asked if you’re evil… All you must do is compare yourself to her to realize what real evil looks like.” He scoffed. “And she justifies her actions by not viewing us as humans. To her we are a disease that plagued the world until she found the cure.”
Alaric lifted his cup of wine to his lips and let it flow until it was gone, then stuck it out expectantly. “Manaya.” As the sellsword walked toward them, he said, “There will always be magic. That is The Creator’s will. All she’s found is a way to put her head in the guillotine.”