The crowd ignited in applause, screaming praise for her, although Logan noticed more than one look of disdain.
“Madame Elise will be undergoing to Rite of Baetylus later this month, to become one with our All-Father and establish commune with the Council of Twelve. Long live Madame Elise!” Arch Councilor Zacharia proclaimed, as she curtsied and returned to the back of the stage.
“On the morrow our heroes will be heading back to Riverbell, where they will help in the efforts to rebuild.” He addressed the gathering then directed his focus solely on Corbin.
“The people of Fal owe you a debt of gratitude that we hope to repay through a tribute. We will be resurrecting a memorial here in the capitol for all of those that fell, including dear Elder Morgana. On the morrow the Walker brothers will not be leaving alone, but with some of the city’s finest craftsmen that will help in their efforts to rebuild, as well as provisions to get our friends in Riverbell through this tragic event and into a brighter future.” The arch councilor clapped his hands, prompting the audience to do the same.
“Now go enjoy your evening! Lady Penelope has put together a grand gala for us and an even grander feast. Afterward, we will hear from Lady Cassandra and Magistrate Fafnir on why you should vote for their seat on the Council.” He said, spreading his arms out, releasing everyone back to their festivities.
Corbin absently excused himself from the magistrate and made his way through the pressing crowd toward the woman he loved. At the base of the wooden steps to the stage, Elise was looking around the room for him, and jumped when his fingers tapped her shoulder. They shared a look, silently communicating everything they had gone through in the last couple weeks and how desperately happy they were to see each other, before melting together in an embrace that was a bit too scandalous for the presumably proper nobles surrounding them. For a moment, that seemed to stretch on for hours, they held each other, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her lips softly pressing against his, lost in one another. Nothing mattered more to Corbin in this world than his sweet Elise.
The journey he had taken, noble though it may be, had left a hole in his heart where only Elise could dwell. She had longed to hear his kind voice these last few weeks while tending to the wounded and dead in Riverbell. The attack had not been kind on their people and the shock of her new position among them had not been an easy one to adapt to. Corbin was her strength and Elise was his.
“Ahem, decorum Madame Elise, decorum.” Lady Penelope said through a clenched smile, lightly tugging the young woman’s sleeve. It simply would not do to have an unwed couple locked in such a passionate embrace, and certainly not in her house of all places!
“Oh, yes of course, my apologies milady.” Elise said, although she could not wipe the sparkle out of her eyes, pulling back from his strong arms as they both began giggling like two schoolchildren. Noticing the Lady’s disapproving stare, she straightened her silk dress and tried to put on a serious expression, while Corbin blushed and gave an uncomfortable laugh, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.
“Come dear, there are so many people to introduce you to tonight. And Corbin you simply must join us, as the future Mr. Ivarone of course.” She insisted, leading them away from the stage.
Mr. Beauford watched the couple disappear into the crowd with a smile on his face. It was nice to be reminded of the good in humans. The little gnome had watched the kingdom of New Fal from its early beginnings and had grown rather cynical in the last few decades, over what he would define as the devolution of man. He walked through the crowd with a polite tip of his brimmed green felt hat at customers here and there, many trying to rope him into their conversations, but he politely declined, promising to return later. He was looking for his new recruit, and spotted him ahead talking with Lady Cassandra.
“I would not call that doing their job.” Logan countered Lady Cassandra’s last statement.
“You misunderstand. I do not mean the job of the guards in upholding the laws of New Fal, but it is the job they are being paid to perform right now, nonetheless.” She countered, wearing an amused expression at his clever nature, she clearly found Logan charming.
“But...” he tried to counter.
“No but’s about it, young man. That is the grim reality of our capitol. What you did was noble enough. After all the progress we have lost in the lower levels, it is refreshing to hear of someone acting from a place of morality again.” She jumped in, speaking of the previous day’s events, which had already been brought to her attention, despite Fafnir’s attempts to sweep the matter under the rug.
“So you agree with me then?” he asked uncertainly, confused over the woman’s viewpoint.
“I agree with your morality, not with your actions. Think on it for a moment. Did attacking those guards do anything to help the unfortunate child who was murdered?” she asked.
“Well…I guess it did not.” Logan admitted, looking to his feet as he thought over her point.
“Now if you had stopped to gather yourself for a moment, you could have used this newfound hero notoriety you’ve gained to bring the situation to the attention of the Council of Elder’s.” Lady Cassandra pointed out, firming up her gaze to make him look her in the eyes. It was important he understand just how serious his new position in society was and what he could do with that kind of recognition. Logan looked to this Lady, who had pulled him aside out of nowhere, with curiosity, thinking perhaps there was hope for the people of Fal after all.
“As it is, Fafnir has already spread rumors of your drunken temper, attacking his noble citywatch.” She informed him.
“Learning to control your emotions will be a journey worth taking.” Said Beauford, jumping into the conversation. Logan swore to himself this would be the last time the little gnome snuck up on him.
“Lady Cassandra, I am terribly sorry for your loss. When I heard the news of Elder Alan’s death it gave me great sorrow, noble though his efforts surely were.” The gnome gave her a slow bow, pulling his wide brimmed hat behind his back, as his head almost touched the floor. Logan stepped back to take in the woman’s appearance. She wore black from neck to toe; even her circlet was obsidian with an Onyx set in the center. He suddenly felt like a wool-headed goat, this woman was clearly in mourning over the loss of her husband, and here he was rambling on about the city’s corrupt lawmen, as if she did not have higher concerns on her mind.
“Thank you, good Gnome Beauford, your words mean much to me. Logan never you mind, no apologies are necessary.” She said as if she had heard his thoughts spoken aloud. “In any event I want you to watch your back carefully around that one, he is not to be trusted.” Lady Cassandra said, gesturing across the room at the magistrate.
“I’m sure this has nothing to do with your competition for the Council seat, milady?” he sarcastically replied.
“I see you are a cynical one. If you knew me better, you would know falser words were never uttered.” She said.
“Logan I believe we have unfinished business that beckons?” Mr. Beauford asked, wanting to pull him away before he had an opportunity to make an arse out of himself.
“Of course, gentlemen, I will see you at the dinner hall, I’ve reserved seats for both of you nearby my table, and we can discuss this further then.” Lady Cassandra ever so politely dismissed them.
“It will be our honor, milady.” Mr. Beauford bowed again, before cutting through the crowd.
Logan followed the little man to the left edge of the room, down a long hallway and into an area that was away from the action of the party, safely removed from prying ears. Mr. Beauford knew that everything Lady Cassandra had to say was not just for this young man’s benefit, but also for the nearby listeners whose votes she hoped to secure before the night was through. Beauford on the other hand, had no such inclination to have others privy to his dealings.
On either sides of the corridor stood richly decorated columns, reaching to a flattened out ceilin
g that was lower than the ballroom, with small dark alcoves dotting the hallway, filled with barely visible marble statues. Only the sconce at the end of the path, where it split in either direction, was lit. Above which was an oversized painting of the Lady Penelope with fan in hand, the very embodiment of sophistication. The gnome stopped once they were past the middle of the corridor turning to address Logan.
“I understand your package was compromised?” he growled.
“Compromised? No, I just delivered it to Lady Cassandra as you asked.” He was surprised at the accusation.
“While ye were in section six…” the gnome offered, leading him to think through the series of events.
Logan slapped his forehead. “Those bastards went through my belongings?!” He was upset with himself for his lack of foresight, realizing the guards must have gone through his belongings while he was unconscious.
“My sources were right then. What ye just delivered was not the intended message lad. No trouble, I will deliver the proper information tonight, in person.” The gnome spoke, more to himself than anything, thinking aloud while he twiddled tiny, stubby fingers lost in thought over the implications of his message being intercepted.
“That rotten bastard…I’ll shove his face so far up his arse...” Logan began pacing, angrier and angrier at being on the butt end of a mistake.
“This is precisely the point. Ye need to control your reactions boy.” He counseled, folding his arms while he addressed Logan.
Logan was at a loss for words.
“Ye have much curiosity and skill to boast of. There can be so much good brought to the land by your family, if ye only learn to control your passion, lad.” He explained.
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I just get a standing ovation from the entire city and wasn’t I just recognized by the Arch Councilor himself? Looks like I’m doing pretty good without your advice, old man.” He bragged at the gnome, cocky and sure of himself.
“I wouldna’ call being sent back home on the morrow, with your tail tucked between your legs, doing alright. That is Fafnir’s doing, he is not going to keep a meddlin’ little scallywag like yerself about.” Mr. Beauford countered.
As stubborn as Logan could be, he saw the truth clear in the gnome’s words.
“Aye, but we won’t let that stop us, eh lad? Under all that bluster, ye’ve got a good heart, you do. Now be a good little mule and do as the Council decreed, get back to Riverbell and help your people fix the village right. When it’s all done and clear I’ll send for ye to come back to the capitol, there is still much for us to discuss that ye don’t be knowin’ just yet.” The gnome advised his young charge.
“Sounds like a plan, old timer.” Logan readily agreed, it was the wisest course to follow.
“Alright then be off with ye, it’s about time for the feast it is.” Beauford attempted to dismiss him.
“And the other half of my pay?” Logan asked, holding his hand out expectantly.
“Eh? Nice one kid, scram.” The gnome laughed at his tenacity, as if he would pay him for messing up the delivery.
“Can’t blame me for trying?” Logan laughed, turning around to head back into the gala, oblivious to the dark shape silently dropping from the ceiling down the hall. The shuffle of Mr. Beauford’s boots kicking against the tile, had him curiously turning to see what the gnome was doing that could make such a strange noise.
Logan’s skin crawled, his body frozen in place, not able to comprehend the spectacle in front of him. The gnome was on the floor with a dagger stuck deeply into his chest. A shadow stood over him, wearing tight black wrappings around his upper body and shoulders, with ash baggy breeches flared from the top, but securely fitted around the soles of his bare feet. The assassin’s skin was ebony, glistening with sweat around the edges, dimly lit by the far sconce.
The man turned slowly to face Logan, revealing a wicked grin from ear to ear. He seemed to move like water, flowing over the floor backward, never taking his eyes from Logan. Slipping into the nearest alcove, taking with him the pilfered pouches from his victim, the man melded into the shadows. Raising a finger to his lips, he whispered “Shhh…” like the purr of a tiger. As the assassin slipped deeper into the darkness of the recess, he could only see the man’s eyes and that wicked toothy smile taunting him.
Logan hurried over to Mr. Beauford, lifting his head off the floor and screaming for help. Blood poured from the gnome’s open mouth, staining his bushy white moustache scarlet, and his eyes already held a dazed faraway focus. Logan reached down to the black metal of the dagger hilt and wrenched it from his friend’s chest, hoping to apply pressure and stem the bleeding. The action had quite the opposite effect; blood poured from the wound as if a river had opened in the gnome’s torso, spraying past his blocking hands that desperately clutched the gash to keep the man alive.
“Hang on… we’ll get you help, old man.” He tried to add levity, not knowing how else to react in this surreal situation.
“Loga…argh...you must get out of here…” Beauford gurgled, feebly attempting to push him away.
“What in blue blazes are you talking about? I’m staying right here by your side!” he admonished the thought of leaving his friend.
“Run Logan... it’s all lies. Run to the surface...argh...they need to know the truth...” Beauford was rambling incoherently, making no sense.
“You’re babbling man, just take it easy.” He said, trying to calm the dying gnome, screaming out for help again. Down the hall, he heard a woman let out a screech, signaling she was witnessing the emergency.
The gnome gathered the last of his strength to grip Logan’s collar and bring him closer.
“Shut yer damn mouth and listen to me, ye knucklehead. Go to the Crow and get the pendant…argh. Get the pendant…bring it to me family…get it away from them…get it…get...out…of...here...” He weakly spoke each word, but the look in his eyes gripped Logan’s senses.
The woman down toward the gala was still screaming for help and a small group of aristocrats gathered near her, pointing to the men and shouting for the palace guards.
“It’s all lies…you have to leave...wanted to tell ye...” Mr. Beauford whispered, loosening his grip and slipping away from the young man, fading into death’s embrace. Logan felt the warmth of salty tears running down his cheeks. This was the second time in as many days that someone he just met was murdered. He could hear the sounds of boots running behind him, as the palace guards approached, but it was too late for them to save his friend.
“Halt murderer!” The commander of the guard ordered, threatening him with a polished two-handed trident. Logan was bewildered to realize that they assumed he was the one who killed Mr. Beauford!
“Drop the weapon and move back dog.” The commander ordered, as his men slowly edged in, setting themselves up to flank him.
Logan followed the man’s eyes, looking down and realizing he was still gripping the bloody dagger from the gnome’s chest. “Well that doesn’t look good now does it?” He thought, dropping it to the floor and hastily wiping the blood from his hands to no avail. The floor all around him pooled with the murdered gnome’s blood, sticking the fabric of his pant legs against the tile.
“Look, you don’t understand...” he began to explain, raising his blood soaked hands in the air to show he was not armed.
“Execute the murderer!” Magistrate Fafnir forcefully ordered behind the soldiers, with a sinister smile only Logan could see.
As the men rushed in, tridents thrust forward, he screamed his defiance, throwing his metallic hand forward to block his body. Energy crackled from the palm and burst forth in a bright light, sending the men and crowd behind to their backs in an after blast from the stunning shockwave.
The ringing in Fafnir’s ears dulled out the groaning and shouts of the people on the floor around him. Some of his soldiers were helping him to his feet as he rubbed the dull ache from his swollen eye
s. The only resident of the arched hallway remaining was a dead gnome. Logan Walker had escaped.
Chapter 12
After the concussive blast had knocked everyone to the ground, Logan wasted no time making his way toward the exit. He was already clear across the ballroom before Fafnir and his men even began to stir again. Looking over his shoulder at the chaos left behind, he did not even see the poor waitress in his path, who he practically flipped over, stumbling to help her up in his panic. One of the soldiers saw him running toward the front doors and moved to block his path. Without giving it a second thought, he barreled head first into the man’s stomach, tackling him roughly to the ground and giving him two sharp raps across the face. Women were screaming all around, hurrying to get out of the way of the lunatic barging through the party. As he approached the exit, two of the palace guards looked toward him puzzled as to why a guest was running.
“The palace is being attacked! Help the Magistrate, he’s been hurt!” he shouted, pointing over his shoulder. From the guard’s perspective what they saw was a scared man who was followed by a rove of panicked aristocrats charging out of the building. Instead of moving to detain him, one nodded and they ran inside to help their leader.
Even a good four blocks away, Logan could still hear the commotion he had left behind at the gala as noblemen and women were filling the city street and fleeing in their carriages.
“These people are crazy! What the hell was I ever thinking wanting to come here?” he wondered, stopping to catch his breath between two buildings. He leaned heavily into the wall with his blood pumping hard, and pulled his walnut colored hair out of his face. “What in blazes just happened?” he wildly thought, replaying the chaotic scene in his head. He could not understand why someone would want to kill the little gnome, but judging by the look Fafnir wore when he was cornered, he had a hunch the weasel was behind it.
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