He took the advantage, slipping free and wrestled his position around to face his attacker, only to receive another sharp blow to the jaw from the man’s club. Logan saw stars again, but managed to stay in control, knocking the weapon out of reach. Grabbing onto the man’s side, he dug metal fingers in between his ribs, and yanked down hard, breaking the bones under his weight. It was more than he meant to do, only wanting to twist the man’s pressure point, but hearing the sound gave him a sick joy. The corrupt guard let out a blood-curdling scream and frantically tried to shimmy away from Logan.
“Oh c’mon, where you going, Constable? You can’t leave before I pay you my taxes.” He mocked, before slamming his forehead into the cretin’s nose. Blood gushed out of the unconscious man’s face as Logan pulled himself up to his knees.
He reached down and flipped the guard onto his side so he would not choke on his own blood, wiping the smear of it off his forehead. He did not realize someone had come up behind him until it was already too late, unable to react as another loud thwack sounded with something cracking across the back of his neck. This time the stars flashed and the ground came up toward him, while the world faded to black.
Chapter 10
Across the city, a sleek black carriage rolled through the streets, being wide enough to fit four passengers in its spacious quarters, the vehicle took up most of the road. The driver busied himself whipping the large black elks, to keep moving forward faster, while on either side of the carriage hung the magistrate’s personal guard, gripping leather handholds with heavy boots resting on ivory carved niches. As the vehicle rolled along through the early morning, the men yelled to either side, warning pedestrians to either move or be run down like dogs.
Behind glass covered windows, covered with purple velvet embroidered curtains detailed in gold stitching, the owner sat coiled like a snake beneath his dark cobalt-blue robes. Magistrate Fafnir had a hawkish look about him, with sharp angular features. His nose was large and came to a point, matching a thin, protruding chin. The centuries had not been kind and were beginning to show clearly on his face, with wrinkles set in deep crow’s feet around his eyes, giving them a sunken look, as if his skin were too tightly stretched over his bones yet just loose enough to hang slightly around his jowls. Fafnir preferred not to wear a hat over his bald pate, some said it was because he wanted you to stare at the specks of discolored skin that dotted the side of his head, to throw you off and make one uneasy. He currently wore a cunning smile, as his eyes worked like daggers against the woman with which he was conspiring.
“Well, I certainly do agree with your disinclination, Mademoiselle.” His voice worked like silk across satin as he spoke.
Duchess Blaunchette chittered, as she feigned embarrassment. Her large quivering breasts seemed as if they might spill out of her too tight dress at any moment. A garment of this style would normally be quite flattering, but the oversized woman tended to wear her clothing a size or two smaller than she should, clinging to dreams of her long forgotten youth. The Duchess’ face was covered with a bit too much white powder, caked up around the folds of her neck and she wore her hair in long brown curls that Fafnir suspected were actually the work of a wig.
“Oh Magistrate, I believed you would.” she replied, still feigning the giggle, while covering her mouth with a hand fan. “After all, we shan’t have just any citizen thinking they can do these things.”
“As always milady, you are the epitome of civil society. I will see to this at once, trouble yourself with it no further.” He assured her, as his hand appeared from the folds of his robes, palm face up with his little white fingers waited like the claw of a vulture.
The Duchess cleared her throat and dropped a jingling coin purse into his grasping little talons. Quickly, the tight little bony fingers clamped around the bribe and it disappeared into the folds once more, while he pulled the cord next to his head, signaling the driver to stop.
“Now then Madame, if you please, I have many affairs of the kingdom to tend to this morning.” He said, graciously gesturing to the door as it was opened by one of his men.
The noblewoman shuffled sideways to the exit, balancing her weight on the guard’s outstretched hand, as he helped her down the steps. Once outside, the Duchess straightened out her dress and quickly peered back inside.
“Thank you for your time, Magistrate. Your support to House Blaunchette will not be soon forgotten. We are in your debt once more.” She huffed; out of breath from the labor of getting out of the carriage. Adding, “After this matter has been duly settled, of course.”
“It honors my humble soul to hear your words. I am but a servant to the kingdom, Madame. By tomorrow evening the offenders will be taken care of, and after that none of the first levelers will dream of trying to send their little whelps to your daughter’s school again.” He cooed with his nose up in the air at the mention of citizens from the lower level of Fal. Before she could say more, the door shut and the driver’s whip resumed working to move along toward their master’s next destination.
Relieved to be out of sight, Fafnir dropped the façade, his face returning to its permanent scowl. “Off to Mill Road.” he croaked the command into a tiny bell shaped metal opening that worked as a communication device to his driver. Pulling out the purse, he counted through the coins, scribbling a tally in the little worn ledger at his side.
“Rodger, step in here.” He croaked toward the door on his right. One of the heavily armored soldiers obediently crouched through the small opening and sat across from him, taking up nearly the entire back seat of the carriage with his muscular frame.
“After our next stop, send out word to have this family detained.” He ordered, handing the man a tiny parchment scrawled with the family’s name. “They live in the smelting district, on the eastern first level. And make sure it stays quiet this time, I do not need any more badgering from Elder Reinholt.” His guard accepted the parchment, giving it a quick look before tucking it away into the tiny pocket under his shoulder plate.
“Yes sir, would you prefer section six for their detainment?” he asked, referring to one of their quieter prisons, that no one knew existed, it was the perfect place to make citizens disappear.
Fafnir gave a derisive snort. “Rodger…detain them. You are dismissed” he was annoyed to have to spell out every little thing for the man, but at the same time somewhat amused at his devious mind. Rodger gave a quick nod, understanding his meaning, and crouched back outside to his position on the side of the carriage.
The matter taken care of, he let his thoughts wander to the future. With Elder Alan out of the way, there was a seat open for the first time in over a century on the Council of Twelve, the ruling body of the New Fal kingdom, and he intended to make sure it was his. Duchess Blaunchette had such a meager request, compared to some of the others he had taken care of over the last couple of days. Fafnir had always coveted a seat, all the way back to when he turned sixty. He used to eagerly wait for the day one of the Elders would be in the right position for him to swoop in and steal their leadership, sometimes daydreaming one of them were choking on poison or accidentally falling down a flight of stairs. Never in a million years would he have dreamed such an opportunity would open itself up without his direct influence, after so many plots and plans had dissolved into failure over the years. He snickered that the foolish Elder Alan had actually sacrificed himself for the people of Fal! This was exactly the reason Fafnir needed to be on the council. What limited range of vision the Twelve had.
If it had been him, he would have grabbed one of the criminals in section three and thrown them in the vorpal cocoon, to fuel the weapon, hell, maybe even two of them at the same time for good measure. With the seat open, he was working tirelessly to secure every vote he could before the next meeting of judgment.
With the exception of Elder Alan’s widow, the Lady Cassandra, and that fool Count Roberro, there was no real competition for the coveted position of power.
Lady Cassandra was the real threat, like Fafnir, being one of the original pilgrims of New Fal, fleeing into the core of Acadia after the Jotnar blight. She would be a formidable opponent, being widely respected by both the lower levelers and noble citizens alike. So he was drumming up whatever additional support he could muster in the House of Aristocrats, knowing that with each House he acquired in his network, not only did he gain the allegiance of the aristocrats, but also their entire staff of servants. And if that meant keeping some dirty little lower class Falians out of the White Tower school district for Duchess Blaunchette, then so be it, after all that was nothing compared to what he would do to gain his position on the Council.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the wood mill. While one of the soldiers headed inside, Rodger stepped to the side alley giving orders to a group of his men that were waiting outside the building, stationed there to protect the city’s hero inside.
“Get to this address post haste and bring these citizens to section six for processing.” He ordered.
“Affirmative Captain, what are the charges?” One of the younger soldiers asked.
“No charges, no courts, this is to be a quiet one, men. Take them down to section three and execute them within the hour for crimes against the kingdom.” He replied, dryly ordering the execution as if he were telling them to wash his laundry. The soldiers bowed in compliance, leaving him to fulfill their task.
“Can I help you?” Corbin asked the soldier who had been knocking at his door.
“Corbin Walker of Riverbell?” the man roughly inquired.
“Yes…that’s me, what can I do for you?” he politely asked.
“You’ll need to come with me. Your presence is required by the royal Magistrate.” He ordered, stepping aside, expecting Corbin to immediately vacate the apartment.
“I am sorry, the Magistrate? There must be some mistake. I have not...” he tried to make sense of the abrupt intrusion, being confused as to why the leader of all Falian lawmen would possibly want to speak with him.
“Leave your abode immediately, citizen.” The guard forcefully ordered, brandishing a musket rifle to accentuate his directive.
Not wanting to get into an altercation with a man of law, Corbin raised his hands, attempting to cool the situation by showing immediate compliance, and headed into the hallway.
“No need to get upset, I was just asking...” he tried to explain, but was cut off by the man’s rifle jabbing him hard in the back.
“Move citizen.”
By the time they reached the carriage, the guard had holstered his weapon and moved to open the door, ushering Corbin inside before slamming it shut behind him. He was surprised to feel the vehicle already on the move, mere seconds after entering, barreling down the street away from his temporary housing.
“Corbin Walker, it is a pleasure to meet you young man, I have heard a great many things from Elder Morgana.” the old man held out is ringed hand, expecting Corbin to kiss it. He was disappointed when the young man awkwardly shook his hand instead, but continued on anyhow.
“Also there have been so many tales told already, rumors spreading through the city of your bold and courageous action to warn us of the skex attack. I had hoped we would be meeting under better circumstances, lad.” Fafnir purred, pouring him a drink of water as they spoke.
Corbin cocked his head, confused. “Well, Magistrate…I appreciate your kind words, sir, I mean, not just appreciate, I am honored really. But exactly which circumstances do you mean?” He asked, never one to beat around the bush, always preferring to get right down to brass tacks, as Elder Morgana would say.
“Why, that would be the circumstances of your brother being arrested by the state.” Fafnir slowly explained, taking care to emphasize each word and carefully gauging the man’s reaction as he spoke.
Corbin was dumbfounded, at first he could not comprehend how his brother could possibly get in trouble lying in a hospital bed then gradually came to understand as Fafnir explained.
Logan had somehow left the medical facility, though the healers had not released him yet, traveling through the city alone. Several eyewitnesses saw him stealing wares at the market, and he may have assaulted a young boy, who was in questionable medical condition. Apparently, some of the magistrate’s men had tried to detain Logan, since he was drunkenly wandering the streets and behaving erratically. Both of the city watchmen in question were badly hurt during the ordeal, and it had taken another group to stop his brother’s violent outburst.
“How could Logan do something like this?” Corbin felt like a fool for thinking, after all they had been through the last couple of weeks, his older brother was finally changing his tune. It seemed like every time he thought things were getting better, Logan pulled a new stunt to prove him wrong. He guessed some things could just never change. But, to hear he had gotten into a fight with lawmen, that was far more serious than his usual shenanigans.
The noble Magistrate Fafnir tried to comfort Corbin, telling him not to blame himself. “Some people are never able to shake the past.” He said with feigned ignorance.
“Shake the past…in what way do you mean, sir?” Corbin asked, unwittingly taking the bait.
“I certainly do not mean any disrespect to our late Elder Morgana, but we did advise she take the boy to a Falian councilor years ago…when it all first happened.” He added.
“Logan is always getting in trouble, seems like no matter what we are doing he will find a way to slack off, or create a prank, nothing ever as serious as this though. Not sure a councilor could help him with that.” Corbin said doubtfully.
“A wise woman once said, it’s not the branches, but the roots that define a tree’s growth. Surely we could have prevented all this nonsense years ago, right after your mother died.” He cooed, pretending to sip absently on his drink. Fafnir enjoyed causing problems where none should exist, he knew very well that Elder Morgana had kept the younger brother in the dark over his parent’s deaths, and why.
“I do not see what this has to do with my mother, did you know her?” he asked, sensing there was something the magistrate assumed he knew.
“It has everything to do with sweet little Melinda. From what I understand, if your brother had listened to his mother, and stopped trying to get her to play hide-n-seek, she would still be alive today. No one could blame poor Melinda for what happened, she was just trying to do some laundry by the river, but who among us could resist the playful nature of their children?” Fafnir paused to let him digest the revelation.
“I think you are mistaken sir, my mother died of a terrible sickness.” Corbin corrected the man, a pit settling in his stomach.
“That is correct. There is nothing deadlier than the sickness that follows the deadly bite of a river asp, after all.” Fafnir reasoned.
“Are you saying my mother was killed by a river serpent because she was playing a game with my brother?” Corbin asked, the pit sinking further down into his bowels.
“Forgive me son, I assumed you knew, but…at your age…yes I could see you would have been too young when it all occurred. I guess Elder Morgana never had the heart to tell you.” he coolly replied.
“Why would she hide this from me?” Corbin’s world spun, the proverbial carpet being pulled out from under his past, as he tried to make sense of Fafnir’s claims. His hands were shaking, spilling droplets of water from the glass onto his lap.
“Don’t blame Elder Morgana, dear boy; she was an amazing woman, the ilk of which we are not likely to see again.” At least he hoped not. “Most likely, she did not want to stir the pot, wanted to protect you boys. After Melinda died, your father certainly made no attempt to hide his feelings on the matter. He was filled with hatred for Logan, blaming him outright for her death. After he left, not able to bear being around your brother anymore, we pushed her again and again to have the boy speak with someone, to help him get through it, but she always refused.” The magistrate finished
his story.
Corbin sat slack-jawed, listening intently to this stranger’s recounting of his family’s past. “I...I never knew.” He stammered in disbelief.
“Well, you were so young, I am hardly surprised.” Fafnir replied, thought Corbin’s thoughts were suddenly elsewhere, echoes of the funeral beat back into his head, he could hear his brother mourning, could see him in his memories sobbing by the casket, repeating how sorry he was over and over again.
“I hope I have not troubled your soul in my attempt to put things in perspective, dear boy. I believe your brother is, in his heart, a good person, but until he lets go of causing his mother’s death and driving his father away, things are bound to only get worse.”
If Corbin had not been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he may have caught the look Fafnir wore for a second, of gluttony. He found it so easy to manipulate the people of Fal; sometimes he even did it just for sport. With the young man from Riverbell doubting his brother, the lie of Logan’s actions from the previous day were an easier pill to swallow.
“I appreciate your kind words, Magistrate. What will happen to Logan next?” he asked, trying to gather his composure.
“I am bringing you to him now and he will be placed in your charge.” Fafnir stated.
“
I cannot tell you what a relief this is to hear, sir. On my honor, this will not happen again.” Corbin sighed, the stress easing out of his shoulders but the knot in his stomach remained.
“You understand of course, it can only be under the agreement that you will get him out of the city post haste. He is no longer welcome here. The citizens of Fal will not understand why one of their heroes has assaulted members of the watch. I fear there are those here, who would not care of his motives, and will call for Logan’s execution.” He explained his terms leaving no room for negotiation.
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