CH 8 - The Best Laid Plans of Moles and Men
Malthus made his way across the street. Elnn and he had parted ways but planned on meeting up in two cycles. He slinked by, nodding at the guards but not making eye contact. The twenty-foot walls divided the complex from the major populace. Inside the sept were houses and buildings for lesser nobles, and distant family members, in addition to the etcetera that abounds both. They were empty though, the outer ones abandoned for over fifteen years. Malthus had no memory of them ever being occupied and they became a playground for him and Elnn.
When he was younger he didn’t think about why they were abandoned. Now he walked past them reverently, he now knew that treason had turned into a contagion in these halls. The air had a thin quality and he could hear the echo of his footsteps when he climbed the stairs. His heart beat faster and his pace sped up. He ran a full sprint past the last few granite-carved chateaus. He stopped at the gates and leaned into the heavy stone doors.
The front entryway wasn’t guarded anymore and only a single gaslight was lit to lead the way. The steward was trying to save money. Malthus rushed down the darker unlit side corridors, using the neglected servant’s paths to gain access to his quarters. He turned the corner just before his bedroom door and nearly bumped into the septs steward. A tall skinny man with a stooped stance.
“Where have you been young sir?” Corkner always asked after him and relayed all relative info to Malthus’s father.
“At the betrothing,” Malthus yawned. There was nothing wrong with being at the feast. His father always made sure he went. It was important to try and keep up appearances amongst the septs.
“Good, good,” Corkner scratched the corner of his mouth. He had pale lips that convulsed like worms in a bucket of water, regardless of the stony expression on his face, “Your father wants to see you. He has been waiting to hear the good news.”
Malthus wordlessly followed Corkner down the hall. He was preparing his resolve for the verbal onslaught that was about to occur. He only met with his father every so often and his father’s version of talking was raging at him loud enough to cause a cave-in. Corkner leaned into the stone door to the main hall. There should have been guards at the ready for them but they were expensive and they only came when Malthus’s father threw a party.
“Come in my boy,” exclaimed Krelneld Degweil, “Come in and tell me of the feast.” Krelneld started coughing, leaning over the side of his high back chaired and spitting pale green bile into the spittoon that was stationed there.
Malthus slowly recounted the night. He spoke of the named quest they had all gotten [Do you accept this Crimson Inkcap?] and the chaos that ensued. During the retelling, he could see his father’s uncharacteristically jolly mood quickly dissipate. He started hacking and coughing again when Malthus finished recounting that he had been tired and afraid of what the Keng might do, so he thought it best to return directly to his quarters. His father leaned over and his face grew red, perhaps from anger just as much from the struggle to clear the unctuous green bile from his purpled lips.
Stolen story; please report.
“I paid them,” Krelneld gasped and sputtered on more phlegm, “I told those mud-digging sons of moles,” More gasping and each of Krelneld’s next words were bellowed one by one, “That-you-were-to-be-picked!”
“What?” Malthus was astounded. Why would his father want him to be part of the betrothal party, thought Malthus
Corkner moved from the corner where he had been tentatively listening in his stooped manner. While he slapped Krelneld on the back he disseminated what had been the plan, “Your father wanted you to attend the wedding since it would be an opportunity for you to make connections and marry into one of the wealthy septs that control Grund.”
“None of the other septs in Waitomo are interested in prolonging the Degweil sept,” Corkner licked his blue lips and continued, “If your line ends they will be able to vie for the Degweil mining operations and deposit claims. You see …”
Malthus’s eyes bulged at the revelation and he stood for a moment staring past Corker, not listening to the rest of what the steward was saying. Malthus had grown up oblivious of his sept’s political standings. He hated the ignorance, he went about with complete nativity as to who and why these people wanted him dead, or worse than that, they wanted him to fail. He felt so far removed from everything and yet was just another piece on the board, waiting to be blindsided and without the slightest indication of when, where, and truly why.
“Boy!” Krelneld bellowed, snapping Malthus from his reverie, “Are you listening to Corkner?! Our line depends on it! Look at those big thoughtful eyes, just like your mother’s. Damn it, I hate those eyes. Eyes like that, you should have been born a woman. I could have married you off and been done wit-..” Krelneld leaned over and let loose a large chunk of phlegm, it clung to his convulsing bottom lip and then finally broke free of adhesion, “Damn this Lungrot if it hadn’t been for that I would have begotten an army of sons and wouldn’t have to depend on shaky legged Heldre like you!”
“We live in sad times my liege,” Corkner admonished.
“Get out of my sight,” Krelneld slumped in his chair and stared down at the blanket covering his lap. He had the same mile-long stare that Malthus had earlier. Krelneld was remembering better times.
Malthus felt his legs gain solidity and he walked away, no longer bound in place by his father’s angry eyes. The eyes were the only thing left unmarred by the lung rot, the only part of him that seemed sharp and otherwise healthy. Malthus pitied him as he knew his father’s mind was sharper than most but his body degraded rapidly each day. It wasn’t fair Malthus thought, but what is fair in this kengdom?
“Wait Mal,” Krenald broke his far-off reverie, “I need you to be strong. One way or another”
He turned to Corkner, “Send him to the training room where Crobalt is staying. It is time for the next phase of our plan.”
“Do you think that wise sir,” Corkner second-guessed his torch liege.
“It’s not wise, but what else can we do? Besides, we can use the named quest. It will serve it’s purpose,” replied Krenald.
“I see sir, truly these are the darkest times we live in. The Rat Keng has surely turned his back on us,” Corkner shook his head and made some quick notes on a notepad he pulled from his belt.
“Sometimes, the tastiest mushroom…” started Malthus’s father.
“Yes, yes, are on the sheerest ledges and all that,” Malthus rolled his eyes as he followed Cokrner out of the hall, “The warren-kin should come up with better idioms.”