He’s quite handsome. He had hand-length hair that was somewhere between honey brown and amber, with smooth, appealing facial features and a noble countenance despite his unconscious state. Built sturdily, too. Maels noticed that both of the boy’s wrists as well as all of his fingers were decorated with expensive magical supplements, not thinking for even a moment that they might be limiters due to the excessive amount that the boy wore. Those are high quality, he thought, sensing the subtle energies that were leaking from the jewelry. Only the most expensive supplements contained enough energy to give off such seepage. But why so many?
Resting a hand atop the boy’s face, he mended his nose with a slight effort and then summoned a bit of water from the air with which to wipe away the twin trails of blood that led down from his nostrils, which had mostly hardened at this point.
Suddenly, his throat was quite dry.
“I suspect that he’s a Silverkin,” said Gartur, who pulled his hood down lower when some passing priests sent him dirty looks through the polished glass. “He’s clearly from a wealthy family, of which there aren’t many in this part of the kingdom. His hands also have the roughness of a swordsman, same as the Silverkins we’ve met along the way.”
Maels’s heart sank by a slight degree. If the boy was indeed a Silverkin, then the chances that he still retained his virginity were quite slim.
“You might be right. Still, I don’t recall there being any males among House Silverkin’s branch families in this region.” Raising one of the boy’s eyelids and being met with the expected whites that an unconscious person was prone to show, he added, “But considering that scandalous clan, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of their bastards.”
“I recall hearing that Lord Caedmon wasn’t that type of person,” said Gartur, crossing his scarlet, white-sleeved arms and looking down at the boy with interest. “Though I suppose we can’t believe in everything we hear.”
Maels felt pity for the boy, along with a stirring of guilt that he quickly shut down in a stoic manner. The boy’s fate had already been predetermined, and his sacrifice would greatly contribute to the correction of the world’s current imbalances.
Archbishop Vestach had no way of knowing that Maels had uncovered incredible magics long lost to the ages, so never in his wildest dreams would he suspect that the inconvenient and sensitive mission that he’d saddled him with would be a stepping stone for Maels that might enable him to rise to a position where he could rival the man’s own influence within the clergy and by extension, the empire. It had been centuries since anybody had subjugated a bred and born demon, entities which were said to have been embodiments of evil that possessed powers far surpassing that of the average man. Once his plan had properly played out, Maels will have vanquished one such creature before the frightened eyes of Mayhaven’s hapless citizens, which was sure to leave a great imprint in modern history.
“Once we arrive at the town, shall we send some people to inquire around local aristocratic circles as to the origins of this boy?”
“No need,” said Maels, offering no further explanation.
Even if he was the child of the count himself, it was of no consequence. By the day’s end both the boy and Lord Caedmon would be dead, and Maels would be the righteous hero that had saved the deceased lord’s county from demonic destruction. That demon will be under my control, he thought anxiously. And while it’s running amok, the collegia will go up in flames along with all of the documents and prototypes that Vestach wants me to dispose of. As far as anybody would be able to tell, the demon would be the cause of the explosion. Nobody would ever guess that the collegia’s destruction would come at the hands of a controlled corpse that had been embued with explosion magic.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
He stared at the unconscious boy, ending a sombre thought by drawing an oval over his chest.
“Your Grace?” Gartur pulled back his hood just enough to reveal his astute red eyes, which were filled with deep concern. “Is everything alright?”
Taking stock of himself, Maels noticed that he was sweating profusely, his robes damp in almost all places. His face was hot and his breathing was a bit unsteady. Looking down at the boy’s innocent face, his thoughts shifted to the children in the nearby wagon as well as all of the unsuspecting citizens of Mayhaven. For just a moment, Maels was uncertain.
“It’s nothing,” he said, hardening his resolve yet again as he turned his gaze to the window at his side. “Just stressing over all of the work that will be waiting for me back in Karolen.”
“Worry not, Your Grace. Now that I’m here, you can delegate as many tasks to me as you’d like.”
“Thank you, Gartur. You’ve always been most helpful.”
“Just a small effort to repay the favour you’ve shown me.” Turning his attention to his own window, he added in a soft voice, “In the two centuries since I was sold to your family, you’re the first of your clan to show me such considerations. To be able to leave the estate was something that I’d dreamt of all my life, and it wasn’t until you were made head of the household that this became possible. I truly wish to repay you.”
“Things will only get better for you from here on out. For the both of us, for that matter.” Thanks to the longevity of his race, his servant had at least another fifty years left to live so long as he remained healthy. Once Maels grew old and sensed that his own end was near, he intended to sell the faithful Inverted man to one of those moralistic Altian nobles in the south of the continent. Like this, Gartur would be able to live out his final days in peace rather than in service to someone from the empire.
Thinking of the people that were destined to die today due to his own machinations, Maels swept away the last of his uncertainties and sat up straighter in his seat. Subtly, he removed all of the sweat from his body with a simple spell and allowed it to trickle down to the floor in a thin stream that discreetly tracked down his left leg from beneath his robes.
Why was he being so sentimental at such a critical time? Many years had passed since Maels had resolved to commit himself wholly to what he believed to be his life’s true purpose, the heaven-sent task of healing the sicknesses of this world. After all that he’d been through, all of the dubious deeds that he’d done for the sake of the greater good, how could he falter in his faith now at all times?
Back when he had been an unknown deacon with only a famous father to boast of, he had been well aware that his life would be rife with difficulties should he heed the holy call of his Lord and Savior. The road thus far had been filled with deceit, darkness and untold dangers, though he never once regretted taking his first, faltering steps down that precarious path. Even if he hadn’t harboured much love for his father, orchestrating his murder had been a monumental test of his faith in Lucian and also in himself. Without full access to his family’s wealth—its estates, resources, subordinates and servants—Maels would never have reached his current status.
It must be done, he thought firmly, patting the boy’s head in a gentle, apologetic manner as he erased all doubt from his heart. Staring down at the unconscious youth, Maels gathered his thoughts in preparation for the commencement of his plan.
***
“A demon?” said a wispish old priest that was directly subordinate to Archbishop Vestach. “You can hardly expect us to believe that one just popped up here so suddenly.” Despite the centre of his head having lost the last of its hair decades ago, what remained on the back and sides was roughly the length of a man’s forearm, the strands long, white and slightly curled.
At Maels’s command, the caravan of clergymen had ground to a halt about an hour after the unconscious youth had been brought to his carriage. A few minutes after that, he’d summoned all of the senior priests in the procession to his vehicle where he opened the doors so that they could get a look at the unwitting passenger within.
“I can assure you, Peimon, that the boy said nothing but the truth.”
“And he lost consciousness again immediately after! He clearly wasn’t in his right mind, Your Grace. We’re expected to arrive shortly, and it’ll affect the prestige of the church if we’re excessively late.”