The Beggar's Wrath

by J B Drake

  “Grovemender residence,” he said. “And take your time.”

  Daggers In The Dark

  Snarling, Thalas stormed through the front door. “All I’m saying is, if that truly was in error, then they are undeserving of their title. Gods, I’m starving now!”

  “And whose fault is that?” Thuridan asked as he walked in behind his son. As Thalas was about to respond, however, a polite cough interrupted him.

  “Welcome home, sir.”

  Ah, Albrecht,” Thuridan replied as he turned to his doorman. “Please tell the cook to have something prepared. I’m afraid our dinner was…disturbed.”

  “Very good sir,” Albrecht replied, “but I’m afraid you have guests.”

  Thuridan frowned before turning and looking behind him. The only person there was Davian.

  “What guests?” he asked as he turned back to Albrecht, but as he turned, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

  “What…?” Thuridan began as he turned to face that which he’d caught a glimpse of, only to stare at the smirking face of Tirelin Fairshroud as he stepped out of his study, goblet in hand.

  For a scant few moments, Thuridan stared, his mind blank as his frown deepened. Then, coming to his senses, he bowed

  “Your Grace,” he said, before throwing a brief glare at his doorman.

  “Back at last, I see,” Tirelin grinned as he raised his goblet to his lips. “Won’t you join me?”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Thuridan replied before heading over to the nobleman.

  “I do hope you don’t mind,” Tirelin replied as Thuridan neared him, “I made myself at home waiting. I had no way of knowing how long you would be.”

  As Thuridan reached the smirking noble, Tirelin took a sip of what Thuridan could now see was his finest Scerillian wine. Thuridan forced a smile as he nodded at the man.

  “I suppose not,” he replied at last. “Though I suppose it was your good fortune that our dining out at Lord Gladespell ended so abruptly.”

  “Oh?” the Duke replied with a look of pure surprise. “Something happen?”

  Thuridan’s smile grew, but instead of answering, he turned to his sons. “Go get changed, the cook will let you know when it’s time to dine.” Then, he turned to the Duke. “After you, Your Grace.”

  With a polite nod Tirelin returned to the study, Thuridan in tow. As Thuridan closed the door, Davian walked over to Thalas, who had been staring intently at the Duke and was now staring at the study door.

  “What was all that about?”

  Mouth agape, Thalas shook his head as he stared at his brother. “Sometimes I wonder if we truly are of the same parentage, you and I.”

  “What?”

  “We just went for dinner with Lord Gladespell, a noble who is well known for his dislike of Lord Fairshroud, only for our dinner to suffer a grave mishap, and who should be waiting for us here when we get home than Lord Fairshroud himself. But you see it all as a coincidence?”

  “Wait, I didn’t say—”

  “Go get changed, Davian,” Thalas sighed, waving his brother’s words away as he turned to the stairs. “When Cook calls for us, I’m not waiting for you.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Thalas hurried to his room. As he reached the top step, his stomach growled. Grimacing, he shook his head.

  “Next time, I’m having lunch, no matter what Father says.”

  Gritting his teeth, he marched over to his door and swung it open without a break in stride. What he saw within, however, stopped him cold. With mouth agape, he stared at Lady Fairshroud sat upon his bed staring straight at him.

  “We must talk,” was all she said.

  It wasn’t so much that she was there in his room, it was that she was there alone. And not just alone, but with her legs crossed in a manner only the grandest ladies of the court could achieve, the arching of her back forcing her heaving bosom towards him. And with that piercing gaze of hers upon him, Thalas was rooted to the spot, his senses awash with both mounting want and rising dread.

  Swallowing hard, he stared from her piercing gaze to her bosom and back.

  “Thalas?” came a voice from behind him.

  Turning, Thalas stared at his brother.

  “Is all well?”

  “Go get changed,” he replied. Then, taking a deep breath, Thalas stepped into his room and shut the door behind him.

  Hiding his disgust behind an effortless smile, Thuridan stared at the noble seated in his favoured chair as Lord Fairshroud raised a glass of Thuridan’s best wine to his lips.

  “Are you sure you don’t wish to try this blend, Your Grace?” Thuridan said as he placed the decanter in his hand back down. “It truly does have a more full-bodied flavour.”

  Looking up, Tirelin smiled.

  “This is more to my taste, I think,” he said before taking another sip.

  Thuridan smiled in response, but inwardly cursed the nobleman.

  “As you wish,” he said, before picking up his own goblet and heading over to the chair nearest the Duke.

  “So, how was the dinner?” Tirelin asked as Thuridan sat. “When I heard you’d gone to Gladespell’s, I’d felt sure it would’ve been dawn before you returned.”

  Thuridan grinned, “Yes, well, I’m happy to say we were spared Lady Gladespell’s boisterous, never-ending chatter.”

  Tirelin smiled. “Quite right.” But his smile was only fleeting. “I take it the dinner was your idea?”

  “You wound me, Your Grace!” Thuridan exclaimed. “It was Lord Gladespell’s, of course!”

  “And what did he want?”

  “I imagine he was after the same thing all the other nobles I’ve recently dined with are after. Allegiance and favours.”

  Frowning, Tirelin cocked his head to the side. “You…imagine?”

  Thuridan nodded as he sipped from his goblet.

  “Yes,” he replied. “We’d only been there a few moments when an…incident involving his daughter ended the dinner abruptly.”

  “Oh?”

  Thuridan nodded once more as he took another sip. “Apparently, she didn’t see the sense in waiting for us before beginning to dine, and when we arrived, she was suddenly filled with a strong and…rather violent urge to empty her bowels.”

  “What?” Tirelin gasped.

  Thuridan nodded at the Duke. “I’m afraid so. In fact, the poor thing didn’t actually make it to the rest room before she…well…as you can well imagine, after such a display, Lady Gladespell felt compelled to cancel the dinner and Lord Gladespell chose not to stop her.”

  “Incredible!”

  “Isn’t it just?”

  “And I take it that’s why young Thalas was complaining earlier? Missing out on a good meal and all that?”

  Thuridan shook his head. “Actually, no. The boy is convinced that the evening’s events were caused by a rather potent bowel relaxant, one that must’ve been added to the food on display somehow.”

  “Is that so?”

  Thuridan nodded. “Yes, and his complaint stemmed from his belief that such a crass scheme was something a nobleman like Lord Gladespell should’ve been able to root out before it got as far as it did.”

  Tirelin smirked. “And what do you think?”

  Thuridan stared hard at the nobleman before him. “I think Thalas was being naive.”

  Tirelin’s smirk grew. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” Thuridan replied, his gaze unwavering.

  Sitting back deeper into his chair, Lord Fairshroud drank deep from his goblet, his gaze holding Thuridan’s with ease. A tense moment of silence fell upon the pair as they stared at one another.

  “Your Grace didn’t come all this way to talk about my dining arrangements,” Thuridan said after a spell. “To what do I owe the honour?”

  Tirelin smiled. “You’re right. I’m here to discuss our last gathering.”

  “Gathering, Your Grace?”

  Tirelin nodded, then his smile faded. “The
one at which you betrayed me.”

  Thuridan frowned as a deep sigh escaped his lips.

  “You and all whom I trust.” Lord Fairshroud continued.

  “Your Grace, I—“

  “Fear not,” Tirelin said. “I have not come expecting apologies or recompense. I’ve come instead to offer you a chance at redemption.”

  Thuridan cocked his head to the side. “Redemption?”

  “Yes,” Tirelin replied. Then, a fire lit within the eyes of the nobleman, and grew with maddening ferocity.

  “I will have my revenge, Thuridan,” he snarled. “Mark me. Those bastards killed my sons. They killed Durlin, Thuridan! That boy was everything I am not! He was going to be my legacy, as Fallon was to be his mother’s! I’d groomed him, taught him, moulded him into the great leader he was destined to be, and they trapped him in that sphere with that…thing! He deserves justice.”

  “Justice,” Thuridan asked, “Or revenge?”

  Tirelin snarled. “Justice for him, vengeance for me.”

  “Your Grace—”

  “I will have their heads, Thuridan,” Tirelin continued. “And you will help me.”

  Thuridan sighed as he stared in silence at the fuming lord. At last, he leant forward, choosing his words with care.

  “I understand the depths of your hate, Your Grace, I truly do. Should Davian suffer the same fate, I’d be determined to see the Tower burn for it.”

  Tirelin sat tall and smiled at Thuridan, but the smile was not to last.

  “However,” Thuridan continued. “What you ask is not possible, at least not for the moment. Too many eyes are on those two, too many people determined to defend them. There are many in the Tower who see what happened to them as a stain on our honour, and are eager to cleanse it by fawning over them. Too many.”

  Tirelin scoffed at Thuridan’s words.

  “Were you to try for those two, believe me Your Grace, you would be declaring war upon the Shimmering Tower.”

  “There is a way, Thuridan,” Tirelin replied. “There is always a way, and you’ve proven yourself resourceful in the past. You’ll find it for me.”

  Thuridan shook his head. “Your Grace, this will cost too much.”

  “No,” Tirelin replied, shaking his own head . “Money is no object here.”

  “Your Grace, This is not a problem you can solve by throwing coin at it. Lord Rosethorn’s words that night still ring true. Mourn your sons, hold their memories dear, but this quest for vengeance will lead to your downfall.”

  Tirelin stared hard at Thuridan for a few suffocating moments.

  “I never thought I’d live to see the day Thuridan Grovemender would be so craven.”

  Thuridan gritted his teeth as his gaze hardened.

  “If you will not help me willingly,” Tirelin continued as his own gaze darkened, “then I shall compel you. You will aid me on this, Thuridan, or I shall withdraw all my support for you in all our dealings. Do you understand me? I will take everything from you. Then, where will you be?”

  Thuridan sat in silence as he stared at the elven lord. As he stared, his blood boiled and his mind raged. Tirelin Fairshroud still saw him as little more than a servant, even now, even with his new title. But what could he do? He was beholden to the bastard noble, too many of his dealings involved the man. To have him withdraw his aid and protection would leave him exposed and vulnerable. And not only that, an alliance with one of such high standing had led to countless doors opening in the past that would otherwise have remained shut. To lose the man’s allegiance would mean losing such an undeniable boon in all future dealings.

  Then, as he stared, a single question forced its way to the fore of Thuridan’s mind.

  So what?

  So what if he no longer had the protection of this elven duke? Many a noble was lining up at his door currying his favour. Was it not merely a case of replacing one nobleman’s protection with another’s? And besides, was he not a Magister? Did that office not carry with it its own protection?

  The audacity of these thoughts made Thuridan’s heart beat faster, but it was the truth behind them that brought a deep sneer to his lips. It was time to cut ties with the elven duke, and it was a thought he relished far more than he’d expected.

  With a genuine smile, Thuridan sat back into his chair.

  “Go ahead,” he said, in a tone that stopped the noble cold.

  “What did you say?” Lord Fairshroud asked, frowning.

  “Go ahead, Tirelin, I—”

  “Thuridan, have you gone mad? You never call me by my name. You are not fit to call me by my name!”

  “Aren’t I? I am a Magister now, Tirelin,” Thuridan savoured the elven noble’s name as it rolled off his tongue, almost as much as he savoured the heated glare it elicited, “and I achieved it without any aid from you and yours. But I digress. The simple truth is I have no intention of aiding you. Your petty vengeance does not serve me in the slightest. In fact, I stand to lose a great deal should I aid you, so why in the world should I?”

  “Have a care, Thuridan,” Tirelin growled. “Have a care. I brought you up from nothing, made you what you are today. If you—”

  “Spare me your threats,” Thuridan said, waving the Duke’s words away. “You may have aided me at the start, but I helped you in return. And besides, everything you did for me came with a price, Everything. And I paid it. All of it.”

  “You will live to regret this, Thuridan, mark my words, you will live—”

  “I am Magister now, Tirelin, and I have since dined with a great many lords. And each one of them has offered me their hand in friendship and alliance.”

  Then, Thuridan leant forward. “If I were you, Your Grace, I’d be more worried about the future. Disrupting my dinner with Lord Gladespell…all that did was delay the inevitable. He is out to destroy you, and, who knows, if he makes it worth my while, I might even aid him.”

  Tirelin leant forward, a sneer upon his lips. “Is that a threat?”

  “Advice, Your Grace,” Thuridan replied with the deepest of smirks.

  For the first time since he’d known the elven lord, Thuridan watched the man squirmed. It was slight, barely noticeable, but Thuridan saw it, and it made his heart swell.

  “Perhaps it is time you stop looking down your nose at me, and start thinking what you can offer me to keep me on your side,” he continued.

  “You conniving little snake!” Tirelin snarled.

  Thuridan chuckled in response as he leant back into his seat, but as he did so, his eyes fell upon the gloves upon the table beside the Duke. They’d been in the corner of his vision since the Duke sat in his favoured seat, but as he stared at them now, he finally realised why they seemed familiar.

  “Where’s your wife?” he asked, turning his gaze to the Duke.

  In response, Lord Fairshroud sat back in his seat his eyes firmly on Thuridan as a wide smirk parted his lips.

  Thuridan stared at the Duke in silence.

  “Where’s your wife, Tirelin?”

  In response, Tirelin lifted his goblet to his lips.

  Snarling, Thuridan leapt to his feet and bounded for the door.

  “You ask a lot of us, Lady Fairshroud,” Thalas said, his eyes upon the floor before him as he shook his head.

  Netari stared at him and smiled. “Fallon spoke highly of you, Thalas. He said there was nothing you could not do.”

  Thalas turned to her, a smile upon his lips.

  “He told me some of the things you and he did,” she continued.

  All at once, Thalas’s smile dissipated.

  “Oh don’t worry, I’m not here to judge; is not what I am asking in the same league? You’ve accomplished much and more, you and your friends. This should be an easy task for you all.”

  Shaking his head once more, Thalas lowered his gaze.

  “You ask a lot of us,” he repeated. “It could cost us everything we have, everything we’ve ever known. Why should we risk all this for you?”
<
br />   As he spoke, he turned his gaze back to the elven noblewoman sat beside him, and immediately regretted it. Fighting hard to contain his squirming, Thalas held Netari’s piercing gaze with all the strength he could muster, and after what seemed like an age, the elven noble finally spoke.

  “You will be avenging your friends, Thalas.”

  Thalas swallowed hard. The warning behind those words couldn’t have rung louder.

  “But of course, Your Grace,” he stammered. “And that is reason enough for me. It’s just that…the others, you see…they will need convincing and they don’t…it’s not that I am saying they don’t care, of course they care, it’s just that—”

  “Stop talking.”

  Thalas obeyed. The silence that followed was as suffocating as it was oppressive.

  “Look under your bed,” Lady Fairshroud said at last.

  Frowning, Thalas dropped to his knees and stared beneath the bed. There were four pouches there he did not recognise. Reaching in, he pulled one to him and opened it. What he saw within stunned him.

  “A thousand gold for each of you,” Netari said, smirking at the stunned young elf. “Ten thousand each after the task is done.”

  With mouth agape, Thalas looked up at her. “Each?”

  Netari nodded. “Each.”

  Shaking his head, Thalas looked down at the pouch. It was more coin than he had ever seen in one sitting.

  “I shall leave the pouches to you to give to your friends,” Netari continued as Thalas pushed the pouch back with the others. “But now I must have your answer. Will you do this?”

  Kneeling still, Thalas stared into the ether as he weighed what he was being tasked with what he was being offered.

  “Thalas, I must have your answer now,” Netari said testily. “By now your father will have realised my husband’s talk with him was a distraction, and—”

  “Distraction?” Thalas asked as he looked up at her.

  Netari nodded. “Yes. You are the real reason we are here, not your father, but we are almost out of time Will you—”

  Just then Thuridan’s voice rang out from without. As one, both stared at the door.