“Many thanks.” Count Brennan took a seat with an audible exhale and then pulled a folded piece of parchment out of a pant pocket. He slid it across the table with an air of confidence. “I’m sure you can guess why I’m here today. You’ve asked for information about our revenues and various streams of income, and so I have provided.”
Maels found it unbecoming how pleased the man appeared with himself for carrying out such a simple task, but he hid such judgements from his gaze as he accepted the parchment with a casual hand. Like a true professional, he tucked the slip away within an inner pocket of his vibrant white robes, not showing any intent to read or discuss its contents in front of the count.
“If there’s nothing else, then there are things that I must attend to. I’m thankful for your—”
The lights momentarily went out, though they returned after the magic crystals in the ceiling began to flicker for a few moments.
“I’ve been here many times but I’ve never seen that happen.” Count Brennan pinched his chin in thought. “Could it be that the enchantment that powers the palace is waning? If you’d like, I can have some high-class magic crystals sent over to replace the current source?”
Maels shook his head, his voice level. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m not so short on money that I can’t afford to keep the lights on in my own home.”
“Ah, forgive me. I forgot that I’m speaking to the son of Archbishop Ettenson. Things such as a handful of high-class magic crystals, I’m sure they’re nothing much to someone like yourself.”
If only you knew, thought Maels as he controlled his expression. Like many of the modern-day clergymen of upper offices, his father had hoarded an incredible amount of funds that he’d hid from the church, enough to make a prominent noble like Count Brennan pale at the sight of it. Since his father hadn’t publicly disclosed the scope of his fortune and since to do so in his dying days would have exposed his avaricious nature, his vast wealth had been directly inherited by his only surviving son.
“As I was saying…”
Again, the lights went out.
Impatient at the count’s continued presence, Maels lit the room with a sudden ball of bright, harmless light and then stood up from his seat. “It seems that there’s something I need to attend to, so you’ll have to forgive me for cutting our meeting short.” Making his way to the door, he said, “Thank you for your diligence in regards to our revenues. I’ll be in touch with any insights and ideas that I might have about the contents of this information, which will surely be many.”
A bit flustered and visibly displeased, Count Brennan made an effort stand up from his chair and then waddled over to the door with a poorly-hidden frown on his fleshy face. “Of course. It’s only natural that we cooperate with one another, as we’ll be working together from here on out.” Worming his way through the door, the count conjured a dozen small spheres of fire that hovered a few paces above his head, the light sources giving off small amounts of heat. “If there’s nothing else, then I’ll see myself out.”
Maels’s personal guards bowed their heads as the two men walked out into the hallway.
Count Brennan left without another word, leaving no mystery as to his sudden displeasure. This was quite regrettable, thought Maels, though he couldn’t be blamed for his thinning patience and curt behavior. After what he had discovered in his quarters the night before last, he could hardly sit still without allowing his mind to wander back to the soul-shivering sight that had graced his hazel eyes in those curious moments before he would have usually retired to bed. Not just him, but he would be hard pressed to find a single person in all of Mais that wouldn’t show a similar reaction, at least among the educated classes.
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“I’m fine on my own, bless you.”
The guards exchanged hesitant stares, both men dressed in dark, hard leathers. These were seasoned warriors from his father’s household, higher practitioners of the warrior stratum. They, along with many others among his father’s former retainers, had made it a habit to keep a close eye on him ever since his return to the empire, and he couldn’t blame them. His father had been murdered by an unknown killer, after all, so it only made sense that they would strive to prevent a similar situation from playing out once more.
“I mean it. Go and enjoy some lunch, then report back to my quarters in a couple of hours. Make sure not to disturb me at that time.”
“Your Grace,” came the dual response, both of the lean, battle-tested men disappearing into the darkness with such sureness to their steps that it was as if they were able to see everything around them as clear as day.
Watching the men go, Maels began to run through all of the things that he needed to do—things he’d prefer to do before it was requested of him—and began to head toward a distant wing of the palace where the source of the estate’s energy was located.
I need to prepare a report for Vestach by the end of the week. I also need to pay my father’s former retainers, and should probably familiarize myself with everyone else here at the palace.
It was imperative that he ensured the loyalty of those that had served his family for countless years, especially now that he was the only one of his line that still remained. Meeting and getting to know those around him was very important, especially on an estate that housed well over five hundred people. Some of these would doubtlessly be spies sent by opposing factions within the Collegia of Clergymen to keep an eye on him, while there always existed the possibility of others infiltrating the palace to follow their own agendas. Considering the secrets that were hidden within the centuries-old complex, he wouldn’t be surprised if others were actively seeking to uncover such mysteries.
After deciding to bestow fifty golden lucets to each of his most faithful and prominent followers, Maels made his way down a wide, beautiful hallway that was decorated with marble busts of the palace’s previous owners along with a wide array of exotic, magically-sustained plants. The fact that every light in the palace seemed to be out meant that plants such as these would begin to wilt if the problem wasn’t fixed in a timely manner, so he put the palace’s maintenance at the top of his list of priorities despite his endless desire to return to his quarters and lock himself away in his primary study.
He encountered several servants in the darkness, all of them feeling their way along the walls as they tried to locate a hallway with windows. Their thankful smiles as he imparted a few floating balls of light to follow after them at a reasonable distance had done a good job of easing his anxiety and improving his mood, as was usually the case whenever he lent others a helping hand. As a conduit of Lucian’s Will, it was only natural to provide aid to those in need, especially now that so many of his peers had fallen to the temptations of the very sins that Lucian had originally denounced at the conception of the Faith.
Maels began to think about the dark underbelly of the current state of the world, along with his plans to shed light on the ugliness that had been festering within the titled followers of the Faith in recent decades, though his inner contemplations were cut short by the sounds of a struggle from farther down the hall.
“Let go! I said let go! You—”
The young voice that carried over from the end of the hallway was suddenly snuffed out after a solid, thumping sound. This was quickly followed by words of disgust and a few malicious laughs, all from people that were much older than the first speaker.
“You…you are the demons. Not us. You…”
Another striking sound preceded a second round of disapproving comments.
As a light source lit up the far end of the hallway, a group of four men came into view after rounding a corner. These were four deacons that had served his family for decades, all of them garbed in the white vestments of their faith, all of them in their mid-fifties. Each held onto the limb of an unconscious boy that lay slumped within their grasp, his hair black as night.