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redthedragonGwaire Cemric was having a very strange week.
Faceless’s strange little protege had apparently taken over the Capitol. Gwaire wasn’t certain on what had gone down, given that he was relatively certain Faceless and his mistress were both immortal and unkillable—he’d seen firsthand how Faceless would only stay down for a brief moment if he were killed, the man was a monster—but the facts were certain. The little guy had sent the Special Forces to arrest him, and he’d only managed to get out via a conveniently located window. He was getting too old to be jumping across roofs and sneaking around corners, really; the last time he’d done anything of the sort he’d been in his twenties, and it’d been a few decades since. His joints were complaining for the entire rest of the week, and he’d messed up one of his knees bad enough to require his healer-mage to fix it.
Then he’d found out that, apparently he’d been invited by Lord Deiya. Not Faceless, nor Deillen; given that he was one of the few who were in on their little charade, it was monumentally suspicious. No, he’d been invited by “Lord Deiya” to a feast within three days that was stressed as monumentally important.
So the kid was playing politics first. Gwaire would’ve used this time to consolidate his power, pull his forces together, but maybe he didn’t have an army. He didn’t seem like the type to fight on his own auspices, though, really. Gwaire wasn’t particularly familiar with him, to be fair, but Faceless had told him enough times about how this or that had happened and the kid had come mewling back to him and Deillen begging them to solve his problems for them. And what other reason would a new ruler, not even announced under his own banner yet, want to bring the supporters of the enemy in to his own stronghold for?
Maybe he could put the pressure on, see if he could force the kid off the throne before the rest of them started vying for it.
He penned a letter, and brought in one of his guys to deliver it to the castle. Then he got the fuck out of the city. The last thing he needed to do was get arrested.
On the day of the banquet, the entire city went up in flames. Gwaire had no idea what was happening, only that there was a crimson glow on the horizon and that the peasantry were, apparently, revolting. The fires were out by midnight, though, so evidently someone had gotten a handle on things.
The next day, his messenger returned. He looked weary and worn, and had a large box on his horse. The box was wood, but inlaid with gold; if Gwaire had seen it inside a building he’d have assumed it was an overlarge jewelry box. It must’ve been given to him by the new regent. Maybe he hoped to bribe him onto his side. As though he didn’t understand that loyalty could not be bought… but Gwaire was not about to look a new position of power in the face, really.
The messenger passed through the gates and vanished from the view from Gwaire’s window, and Gwaire accordingly made his way to his estate’s office. They arrived about the same time. Up close, the messenger looked positively haggard. He didn’t bow.
Gwaire made no mention of it, and instead opened the door to his office. The messenger walked in, and set the box on the table, and then dropped into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut.
“You delivered the message, I take it?” Gwaire asked, crossing to lower his creaking bones into his own chair.
“Uh, yeah,” the guy said, and rubbed at his face with one hand. “Yeah, they got it. They, uh, they… they sent this back for you. Your Grace. He’s killing everyone.”
“What?” Gwaire said, alarmed.
“Rex. He’s—he’s having everyone put to the sword. He’s mounted the heads of all the other high houses atop the castle gates.”
Gwaire blinked, and then went to open the box.
For a second, his brain didn’t allow him to understand what he was looking at. A strange chunk of something soft, foul-smelling, purplish-red and waxy yellow and black all streaked with crimson and russet-brown. Then abruptly he realized he was staring at his cousin’s severed head. Ed had been a bishop. He was a nice guy. Never did anything to anyone. He mostly concerned himself with religious ceremonies. He’d been alive just a week ago. And yet—
Okay, so he’d misjudged this Rex character. He put the lid of the box back on.
“He’s killing everyone?”
“He’s killing everyone. Everyone who went to the banquet, I mean. Except, except me, he had me go.”
“What?” Commoners didn’t get invited to royal banquets.
“He—he’s—so he, uh, my cousin is apparently one of his supporters. He said for the sake of hospitality and kin I could enjoy a taste of what the high life under his reign would look like. Sir, he’s a tyrant of the worst sort. However bad things were under Deiya, they’ll be worse under him. He uses power like a club to strike his enemies down with.”
“What—,” Gwaire started, but once he’d started speaking the messenger didn’t seem inclined to stop.
“He said he’s abolishing religion. I asked, he was actually—he seemed to find it funny, when I asked, I asked him what that meant for people who were religious. I’m religious. He just kind of laughed, and said that if the dragons could do their religion, I could do mine. I pointed out that the demons’ religions are all illegal and he just walked out of the room. Your Grace, I don’t know what that means. And he’s refusing to let people swear fealty to him. I saw someone try, and he just waved them off. Said he didn’t want it because he was creating a new order. Your Grace, I—”
“Stop,” Gwaire said, holding up a hand. “What was that about the fealty?”
“He’s not letting people swear fealty to him. He, uh, so first he announced that he was going to kill everyone related to any noble house, and obviously everyone at the banquet panicked, because that’s horrible. And someone tried to swear fealty to get out of it. He called them a rat and told them that they were going to die and that it was just.”
“Huh.”
“He also said he’s going to deal with you shortly, your grace. I would—I would take this seriously. I know what you said in your letter—”
“Why do you know that?”
“Karth—uh, my cousin—one of Rex’s advisors showed it to him and he thought it was funny enough to show to me. Sir, they’re all. They all know about what he’s doing. They all said this was to be expected.”
“I thought Lord Deiya had said he was weak. Spineless.”
“My cousin said he doesn’t like power.”
“These are not the actions of a man who doesn’t want power.”
“No. I don’t think so either, your grace.”
“What’s your name?”
“Uh—Berenson. Sorrel Berenson.”
“Berenson, I have another thing to ask of you. It may be a difficult and dangerous task, but I think you are the only one suited for it.” Berenson swallowed, hard. “I need a man on the inside if I’m to take the crown away from this madman.”
“Oh.”
“Will you do it?”
“Uh… I… I will.”
“If you get caught, it will most likely mean your death.”
“I know.”
Gwaire clapped him on the shoulder. “When I’ve taken power, I’ll keep you at my right hand. You’ve given me a very significant leg up.”
Berenson nodded. “Um, your grace, not that I’m not appreciative of your generosity, because I very much am, but I’ve been riding all night. May I be dismissed?”
Gwaire nodded. “Go. Return to the cit when you awaken, though. We’ll establish communications once you’re back there.”
Berenson got up and left.
Gwaire let out a breath and then leaned back in his chair, putting his head in his hands. Just for a minute. There was suddenly much to do, and not much time to do it in. Then he got up, and went to get to work.
