Aryyad arrived to find Numisley apprehended by [Soldiers], the retinue of a noble with orange hair. He saw the orange, yellow, and white crest on the sails: a golden hand holding an ivory hammer that struck the waves.
It’s one of the worst things that can happen. One of the scions of the Gaviolos House, and if his intel is correct, they are one of the most powerful in Torregorn, but disgraced with their attempted coup a decade ago. Yet he knew that losing Numisley to the dungeons would mean losing access to the brown book, the “Book of Powers” that his liege told him about.
“Prophets guide me.” He muttered to himself before putting on his best face and politely coughed.
“Lord, may I politely ask what is the meaning of this? Numisley here works under me.”
Dustitoz marched towards Aryyad, looking down on the lowly [Merchant] who dared intervene.
“And who exactly are you, lowly [Trader]?” Dustitoz barked.
“Aryyad Guizzimeraime, [Royal Merchant] of Rhundi. To accost one of my [Merchants] is to interfere with the Kingdom’s business and to interfere with your House’s supply of Kazatjnhic turmeric.”
Aryyad hoped that the thinly veiled threat of cutting their supply of turmeric would deter him from restraining Numisley.
“Are Numisley’s crimes of sacking a village, attempting to pilfer the kingdom’s funds, and falsely assuming as a claimant of the Naveirei House part of your business?”
The retort made Aryyad pause. Were they all true? Of course, this might be a plot to frame Numisley since, based on his information, he is a claimant of the Naveirei House, the progeny of the famous Marhyiana Naveirei, whose name had carried itself even to his homeland.
“If that is true, then he should have a fair trial, according to your faith, correct?” Aryyad countered.
“A criminal doesn’t deserve a fair trial.” Dustitoz refuted.
“If I remember correctly, criminals can be redeemed in your faith. Thou shall pursue righteousness, am I right?”
Dustitoz’s eyebrow twitched when the [Merchant] quoted one of the Second Verse of the Divine Decree. Who is this foreign [Merchant] who knows of the creed of a religion that he himself barely follows by heart and deed? Yet he senses the charisma-Feats he used poking his solid Aura in an attempt to convince him to release his greatest enemy.
“Then he shall attempt to redeem it in a trial that will be convened by the [Priests] of this port’s temple. Until then, he shall be confined in the castle's dungeons.”
With Numisley bound in heavy cuffs, Aryyad watched Numisley being dragged away towards the castle. He used many of his Feats he used for critical negotiations that gave him knowledge about the Divine Decree and his family’s business with his company and disguised them within his words as skillfully as he could. He knew the head of House Gaviolos and some of the heads of its other branch families, but not him.
“Damn.” Cultrost stomped his hoof on the ground. “What do we do now?”
“Let me think of something. I’ll be on my ship. Tell me if your [Caravan Master] arrives…I hope so.” Aryyad left to rest on his ship to write letters to certain correspondents and to think about what to do.
Adriasta arrived first in the castle, where she was escorted by her men and the remnants of the Household Guard. The Guard Captain sat in a makeshift office in one of the storage spaces on the lowest level of the castle out of respect for the Commerro House.
“Is it true that this city has been attacked by [Pirates]? Adriasta demanded answers.
“Yes, my lady,” Tuirre answered. However, this answer is insufficient for the Castellan of the Kaminor House.
“Is it true that Torresso Commerro and Verrespadion Commerro were killed by these [Pirates]?” Adriasta narrowed down her questions to find an answer acceptable to her.
“Regrettably, my lady.”
“And how did they die?”
“The [Pirates] stormed the castle. I did not see what happened in the chaos of battle. When we drove them away, we saw the corpse of our Contiearl. We saw the ashes of his son.”
“Ashes?”
“I believe that they executed him in the castle’s dungeon.”
Adriasta still isn’t satisfied. If they were [Pirates], how did they have time to execute the first son of the Commerros? She knew Verrespadion was a deadly [Paladin] who wouldn’t be slain by mere [Pirates]. The fact that he was in a dungeon is suspicious enough. The fact that her truth gem ring grew a shade dimmer told her something.
“Did they drag him to the dungeon?” Adriasta asked.
“No.” Tuirre hesitated before he said the word. “We were ordered to confine Lord Verrrespadion to the dungeon.”
“Why?”
“We did not question our Lord’s orders.”
“How was he treated, then?”
“Lord Torresso ensured that he was fed well, with [Servants] at his command. We were ordered to place a shelf of books and a comfortable bed for him.”
This conversation gave Adriasta more questions than answers.
“You are dismissed. By my authority, I shall take charge of this city–”
“No. I will.”
Dustitoz had come into the storage space of the castle by forcing himself past Adriasta’s men and the remnants of the Household Guard with his sheer presence alone.
“Lord Dustitoz.” Adrista greeted.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“It is good to see you again,” Dusitoz replied. “I had brought the one who inflicted that nonsensical contract to justice. Now, he sits in a dungeon, waiting for the trial.”
Adriasta realized he was talking about Numisley, the claimant of the Naveirei name.
“Why bother with a Decree-damned trial?” Adriasta snapped, dropping all pretense. “After I allowed him to buy my steel, he has the audacity to force me into a contract! Why, he should be executed already, along with that barbarian that he calls a brother.”
“First, it turns out that he works for an influential [Merchant] who could cut the supply of my House’s valued products. I’ll be damned if they exile me again. Second, this trial would be the final blow to discredit his claim using your statement and my evidence in a legitimate manner.”
Adriasta understood what Dustitoz meant. By discrediting Numisley’s claim to the Naveirei bloodline under the legal and theological court under the protocols of the Divine Decree, he will be forever disgraced, unable to undergo the rite of the Ichoricon. By executing him without the pretense of due process, they risk their standing among the nobility and the judgment of their faith. Why not let him prove it if he is not a true claimant? They would also risk the anger of the Naveirei, even if he is a mere claimant.
“And, of course, the trial will be in our favor,” Adriasta added.
“Of course. A name and honeyed words aren’t enough to support his claim.” Dustitoz chuckled. Yet he cannot underestimate Numisley, the son of the most cunning enemy he had ever faced. It took a decade for him to find the greatest [Spymaster] in the subcontinent. He had brought enough coin for the [Priests] of Ovespuerte’s Temple to grant him the trial he wanted.
“You must be tired, Duc. Get some rest while I govern the castle and its domain.” Adriasta verbalized her opening gambit. She knew he was also here for the city, one of the vaunted jewels of the Kingdom of Torregorn that its Houses would fight tooth and nail for.
“I’m energized, thanks to coffee from Rhundi. You should rest, and I will handle the administration of the city.”
“You have traveled so far. As a Castellan, this castle is my duty. My Feats work best in the castle. I’ll order the [Servants] to give you the best room in this castle.”
“I’m afraid that my work is just getting started.”
Tuirre found himself stepping back, foot by foot, as their Auras clashed in the form of a gradually solidifying and ever-expanding sphere of opposing gales, creaking the barrels and boxes around them. On Adriasta’s side, her Aura solidified into an image of an unmoving mound.
“Let’s drop the niceties. I’m here to claim the city for my House. And unlike you, this castle will benefit under my rule. I’m a [Castellan], not some exiled [Lord] who failed a coup.” Adriasta spat.
When she drew her cutlass, Dustitoz’s spearmen barged in, interposing themselves between their liege and Adriasta.
“And I will do the same,” Dustitoz replied.
“Your House has enough ports. You do not need another one.” Adriasta protested.
“And you are ungrateful. I released you from that contract-Feat. How about we work together to keep the rest of the Commerros out instead of bickering, for now?”
“I can work with that.”
They could see the rest of the Commerro nobles with their disorganized armies, camping in front of Ovespuerte’s walls or boats anchored in the coastal waters. Dustitoz turned to the Guard Captain of the Household Guard, realizing that a non-noble was still in their presence.
“You are dismissed.”
Dustitoz and Adriasta sauntered to the castle’s throne, only to see who was sitting on it. It was Racieros Commerro, the last son of Torresso Commerro. Guarding him is a couple of the remaining members of the Household Guard. They overlooked the fact that Racieros was still alive. The young lord’s visage is heavy and gaunt after hearing the news of his family’s death.
“Lord Commerro.” Dustitoz greeted.
“Racieros.” Adriasta blurted.
“What brings you to my House’s castle?” Racieros asked. “And is it true that you imprisoned my associate, Numisley Gildin, in the place where my brother died?”
“It is not without reason. Numisley has committed a number of crimes–”
“The reason will come later. The fact that you imprisoned my associate where my brother died speaks that you do not respect the laws of the gods. Leave this castle, and let me grieve until I hold court.”
Before Dustitoz could protest, Adriasta put her hand on his shoulder.
“Of course. May the dead be at peace.”
Racieros sighed as soon as they left the castle. He was glad he made it before those two claimed the city. Cultrost emerged from one of the wooden dividers in the throne room.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Racieros turned to Cultrost.
“No problem,” Cultrost said. “We’re friends, after all.”
They headed toward the dungeon along with two of the Household Guards to free Numisley. Racieros didn’t know about the secret dungeon until Cultrost told him about it, and some of the senior members of the Household Guard knew the way. Soon, they were in the noisome cells of the castle until they reached Numsley. Racieros ordered the key-holder to open Numisley’s cell immediately. Cultrost helped his brother, holding his arm over his shoulder as one of the Household Guards brought his walking stick, following Racieros’ orders.
“Thank you,” Numisley said. “What about–”
“I do not wish to talk about politics right now. Let me grieve.”
Racieros solemnly stared at the ashen stain where his older brother had been. It didn’t take much to guess what happened: that he was executed here via [Fireball]. He could imagine the screaming conflagration, the agonizing seconds before his brother was reduced to ashes. After shedding faint tears, he faced the brothers.
“Did you know what happened here?” Racieros asked. Even with the letter they sent him, there are too many questions to ask. Cultrost told him what they knew, that his brother was jailed here in the dungeon, yet he was treated better than a prisoner. A [Privateer Captain] of some sort had dealings with his father, which caused him to be murdered.
“Where’s my father’s body?” Racieros asked.
“In the temple,” Numisley answered.
Racieros promptly booked a carriage towards the temple within the city, far from the castle. When they arrived at the temple, the remaining [Lay Priests] had shown hospitality to Racieros, and even some of the [Acolytes] held back tears of joy from his return.
“Your Greatness of Ovespuerte.” The remaining [High Priest], a pudgy man in gold-trimmed white and turquoise robes, introduced his presence to Racieros. “I see that you are looking for the holy corpse of your holy father, right, my lord?”
“Yes,” Racieros answered. The [High Priest] stared daggers at the two strangers with Racieros. “They are with me. They will come with me to the catacomb.”
“As you wish, Your Greatness.”
They were led by the [High Priest] deep within the temple's catacombs. They passed the alcoves where the pristine skeletons of Racieros’ ancestors and deceased members of the Commerro House were hung, their cadaverous, bleached frames dressed in their most resplendent outfits in life. They reached the center of the catacombs, surrounded by a curtain of pearls and other precious stones, where the blessed body of Racieros’ father lay on a sculpted marble slab, covered with a pristine tapestry emblazoned with the symbol of the Commerro House: a beige castle within an arch of stacked gold coins.
The corpse of Torresso is still fresh yet pale with a lack of blood. His eyes will not open again, and he shall not speak for eternity, for he was free from his duties in the mortal realm. Racieros regretted that he was not a son good enough for the Commerro House when he lived, and he was not in Ovespuerte at the end of his father’s fate.
“Please leave us,” Racieros told the [High Priest], who silently left them within the catacombs.
Finally, Racieros broke into a torrent of tears, his cries echoing throughout the catacombs of the unmoving dead. Cultrost held Racieros’ shoulder, and the young [Lord] of Ovespuerte curled tight into his friend’s embrace.