Blackest Knights

by Phipps, C. T.

  “I’m telling you it’s the truth. Not only does Lord Cynnor spend less and less time in Ma’tallon, he’s rearing his family on his country estate throughout the year.”

  “That’s against the law,” the other said, the conversation made her nervous as she kept wiping her hands on her trousers. “It could lead to a Culling.”

  “There hasn’t been a Culling in generations!” the first merchant exclaimed, lowering his voice the moment he realized how loud he was. “They might come for us all.”

  Don’t know what a Culling is? Let me explain. Each society is like a garden, some are ruled by an iron-fisted gardener who stifles plants to grow the way they see fit; others grow wild. My masters conceived the idea and set it up for us before the dawn of man and the decline of Gathran. It’s the Rule of Consequence. Break the law and the law breaks you, stay within the confines, and everything is well. It took a few centuries, we elves are a haughty and violent lot, but in the end noble and commoner alike grew in the prescribed space—to use the garden analogy—and very few people step out of line nowadays. If the foundation isn’t corrupted, the building holds well. Or the garden… whatever.

  With the rise of man, and my kind freeing the poor fuckers after a brief interlude of enslaving them, the powers that be in Kalduuhn decided to incorporate the Rule of Consequence with the humans as well. After all, they are Kalduuhneans the same as we are.

  Only difference, the idiots tend to forget shit that’s been out of sight for too long. Let me give you an example: a child climbs up a tree when told not to; they slip, fall to the ground and break their arm. Any children present will remember the bone poking out of the smashed arm and will not attempt to climb that tree. Until a generation or two later the same shit happens all over again.

  Humans are idiots.

  Now imagine a law that says that to rule a people the rulers need to live among the people most of the time. In Ma’tallon, Kalduuhn’s capital, we designed a city that grew upwards, and by law, the nobility must remain at this massive tower’s foundation, always aware that if they fuck up, the common people will come crashing down on them. The nobles must remain in the shadow of the subjects for three quarters of a year. All the nobles.

  But since humans are idiots, some asshole or other usually think themselves better than the law and wants to rule from a sunny glade instead. When that happens—and it has been happening every other generation or so—we elves sweep in and destroy the weeds.

  That’s the Culling.

  Sad thing is, it never lasts. Humans are idiots, so we went in every few decades and butchered the high nobility as a lesson for those that would follow.

  That’s the Culling.

  And the merchants were right to be worried.

  Don’t get me wrong, it’s always fun to hunt fat nobles with spears or cut their children apart in front of wailing mothers who suddenly remember what the law says, but sometimes things did go out of control, and innocents on the lower levels of Ma’tallon died as well.

  Do I feel pity? The law is the law, and nobody stands above it, so no.

  Lord Cynnor, I had never heard the name. Then again, I rarely ventured to Ma’tallon. This was the exception. The merchants knew little more and spoke even less about it. Maybe some humans were learning. As it stood, I had to wait on the mage. Another day passed until she arrived. I summarized my encounter with the boar, pointed her in the direction the beast was heading and took my leave. Sure, she asked me to aid her, but the law clearly prescribes our duties. Magical shit for mages, law shit for folks like me.

  I left for Ma’tallon that same day. Along the way, I kept to myself, off the beaten paths until reaching larger settlements. Hooded figures are more common there than in a three-house village. Even then I talked little. Sure, we live with the humans, but while their dialects change quickly, ours remain longer and adapting is tedious, especially since dialects differ from region to region even in one country. The rumors I heard were many. Most had shit to do with Lord Cynnor, but a few other traders and merchants did exchange gossip and their worries of another Culling.

  I wish I could have told them Cullings were a thing of the past; that we were going for precision nowadays, but we move in secret. Far less fun, but also fewer casualties of innocent bystanders.

  When I reached Ma’tallon, its sight took my breath away as it always did. The stone foundation with its manors and temples, mansions and granaries and warehouses were as busy as ever. Since I’d last been here, the human engineers had added mirrors to reflect sunlight into the perpetual gloom of that foundation. Above, the higher levels seemed more robust. Some nobles had obviously enacted renovations to make life above, and consequently for them, better. A few centuries prior the foundation had still been a partial sewer with the commoners disposing of their filth down chutes that were ill-maintained and dripping shit all over the place. The nobles then had locked themselves in their manors, only sending out servants to gather supplies. I’m told that Culling was a pretty shitty affair. Hah!

  Things had changed. For the better, from the looks of it, but humans are morons. Sure, anyone could see the improvements. The refuse pipes were properly dressed in minimal leakage, they had actually attached railings to the upper levels, so no kid or drunkard could tumble to their death. Things looked definitely better. If the rumor about this Lord Cynnor were true, however, things were not as bright as they seemed.

  Another beer?

  That’s the stuff.

  Now, where was I? Right, Lord Cynnor and his family and things not being as good as they appeared.

  As I said before, we aren’t Lawspeakers. That doesn’t mean we do not serve Lliania, far from it! While we aren’t part of Lady Justice’s clergy, all of us were—before we changed professions. Can’t have any stupid fucker with a sword and a chip on their shoulder mete out Justice, can we? Aye, I was an Upholder before, presided over a court and all that. But we never got the real bastards, you know. The really corrupt always have some pawn they can sacrifice, even with the Cullings. Besides, striking terror into the hearts of the corrupt is the most fun one can have outside the bedroom.

  Yes, Lliania’s blessing remains with us. We still can tell if someone’s speaking the truth. But truth and fact are two different animals. Someone saying they can breathe water is their truth. They know it’s true, so any Lawspeaker needs to rely on witnesses to corroborate the story. Or they just shove the water-breather under and wait for the facts. Bastard still alive after a torch has burned down, their truth is actually fact. And justice is all about facts.

  What? Sure, I could have gone to a Library, but leafing through thousands of scrolls to find what you’re looking for is a pain in the ass. Too time-consuming, and not much fun.

  So, I began my investigation. I found out where Cynnor lived, watched the comings and goings of his manor, learned the faces and names of all those in his employ. Took a week.

  No, a Library is not easier. Ever been to the lowest vaults in one? Yes, there is more than one vault in any Library; Grand Libraries are even bigger since they store everything. Yes, that includes stupid stuff as well, so fucking around one vault only to learn you need another and then another. We’re long-lived, not bloody immortal!

  Anyway, after a week I knew the faces of all that came and went, where they lived and so on, and it was time for me to start in earnest.

  Here, have some more ale.

  So, on the eighth day after my arrival in Ma’tallon, I followed a lad named Talfyn. He was just a scullion, but the folks whom nobody pays attention to are by and large the ones who hear the most. He still lived with his parents, shared his meager income with them to help with their expenses. His parents ran a smithy, but couldn’t afford more help, so Talfyn worked for Cynnor during the afternoon and evening and helped his parents out in the smithy during the day. Poor kid never got enough sleep.

  I posed as a traveler who needed his blade fixed. Something not far from the truth, the old poker had seen bet
ter days a century ago, and I’d never found the time to get some to the notches repaired. A bulging purse convinced Talfyn’s father—don’t ask me his name—to let his other work rest and focus on my order. The lad exhausted himself just to shovel coals into the furnace, and it took the father until noon to figure out the blade he’d been heating was elven which prompted him to make the fire even hotter. Poor Talfyn was working the bellows like an imbecile.

  I felt bad for the entire family. Mother and father were discussing how to proceed; their son was slaving over the bellows. It required better coal they said, and of course, they sent the boy. Being a considerate customer, I offered my aid, which the lad gladly accepted. So off to the market we went. I learned there were three markets that might have what we needed, and we walked and climbed from one to the next. Talfyn was already past exhaustion when we reached the market by the Tallon. So instead of heading straight for the coal monger, I suggested we get some food first.

  Initially, the lad was reluctant. After all, this was his family’s livelihood, and he was loath to be tardy. I told him he was utterly useless to his parents if collapsing from fatigue. I bought us a few fried sausages, half a loaf of bread, and some midday ale and we settled down near the docks.

  “You’re an elf, aren’t you?” Talfyn said between bites.

  The lad was perceptive. “Aye.” There was no point in lying.

  “Some of my friends said you’d left after the war.”

  “Not all did, only the morons in Gathran.”

  “They built the roads, didn’t they?”

  Talfyn knew a lot, from where I couldn’t guess. “Aye.”

  “Can’t have been that stupid.”

  I chuckled. “Indeed.”

  “So why are you here? It ain’t because of your sword.”

  Perceptive indeed. “Tell me about Lord Cynnor,” I answered. There was no point beating around the bush, such a bright kid would have seen through the deception quickly.

  “Ah,” Talfyn mumbled whilst chewing. He took a swig from the ale gourd and said, “You want the miser.”

  “I need to confirm a rumor.”

  “You’re one of them!” the boy exclaimed, curiosity battling fear for dominance of his expression.

  “One of whom?”

  “The butchers.”

  That’s what folklore had made of us? Mere butchers? Then again, he was just a child, and children are bound to repeat what they heard others speak. “What do you mean?”

  “You go around and kill people for fun.”

  “Have I murdered anyone on our way here?”

  Talfyn shook his head.

  “Do you know the law, lad? I mean the one that everyone is bound to.”

  Again, he shook his head. So, I explained. After I was done, he asked, “Even the King?”

  “Even the King,” I said. “No one is above the law.”

  “So, you’re like a shepherd?”

  “In a way. Now tell me about Cynnor.”

  “Oh, the Lord is barely around, so they say. I don’t go about the house much, but most times the cooks just prepare food for the servants or the odd guest staying at the manor.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Heard the castellan complain about it to the head cook more than once.”

  “That’s Brisen. She’s the castellan, correct? And Rhun, the head cook.”

  “Aye.”

  “How often has Lord Cynnor been around? I mean how many times since you started working there?”

  Talfyn scrounged up his face, the bread in his hand forgotten. Finally, he said, “Twice, I think. Around the time of the King’s tournament.”

  “How long does the tournament last?” I asked, not that it mattered.

  “A fortnight.”

  “And he left immediately afterwards?”

  “Aye. I think at least, I mean I never saw him or his family, but we always had so much more to do during those days.”

  “I see.” There wasn’t much more to ask. Now I had to confirm Talfyn’s story.

  We finished eating, fetched the coal and returned to the smithy. I wanted to apologize for our tardiness, but Talfyn must have thought ahead for he explained we had to wait for a barge to be unloaded.

  It helps to know one’s way around a place.

  Brisen and Rhun were tougher to follow. They lived in Cynnor Manor and had others running errands for them. In the end, however, it was simple.

  I found out where their families lived and paid them a visit. First Brisen’s, then Rhun’s. The castellan’s sister and family lived on one of the lower levels, just two stairs up from the noble’s. Ensuring anyone’s cooperation is easy, once you know what’s closest to a person’s heart. It took me a while to figure out where Brisen’s priorities lay, other than herself.

  Part of the job is waiting, but I think I told you that already. Waiting and watching, and occasionally asking a question or ten.

  A human would’ve stormed the sister’s place and started destroying shit, and while that can be fun, it usually doesn’t yield the desired result. You want their cooperation. So I waited and watched. First Lord Cynnor’s manor, then the sister’s dwelling. I followed deliveries, and runners carrying messages. Two weeks all in all. I found out that both Brisen and Rhun sent a stipend to their families, but Rhun’s contribution wasn’t that much. He did, however, send a hefty amount to a woman I could only assume was his mistress. So, I decided to watch first the sister’s place then scout out the mistress’s.

  The sister had two children; the girl was named after her aunt, and her aunt doted on the child.

  No, the child wasn’t harmed. Much, but I get to that.

  One evening I decided to pay the sister’s family a visit. They offered little resistance, and in quick succession, I had first the children and then the husband tied up. The mother I’d beaten unconscious. Left a nasty bruise on her face, but anything else might not have been as convincing. She woke to the sight of her family bound by hands and feet, rags in their mouths, hanging from the rafters, with me standing next to little Brisen, knife in hand. She whimpered in fear. Who wouldn’t have, right?

  “Any more noise and I cut the lass’s head off,” I said as calmly as I’m talking to you now. She nodded and remained silent.

  “I need you to fetch your sister and nobody else.” Again she nodded, but I could see the question in her eyes, so I fished out my badge of office.

  What? You’ve never seen one. Oh here, have a look. I don’t go flashing the thing about that much. Makes people nervous. Yes, that’s elven craft. Never been much of an artificer myself unless you count impaling infants an art form. See the detail on the wings? It looks like the eagle is actually holding the scales aloft, don’t you think? Yes, the scales represent Lady Justice; we are her servants after all. Watch out, the claws can be nasty. Sometimes, I swear, one of the claws actually let’s go of the feather they both are holding. Legend has it that if one of her servants succumbs to corruption, the feather is dropped, and the amulet claws its way to your heart. I guess the eagle releasing its grip with one claw is Lliania warning us that we stray from the path of justice.

  Yes, it’s gold and silver. No, you can’t hold it.

  Now, where was I? Right.

  Brisen’s sister, Rhonwynn, saw the badge, realized what it meant and sped off to fetch her sister. I let the family down, bound them properly, and apologized for the display. They were too afraid to understand, not that it mattered.

  I prepared some tea, offered some to each of them, and little Brisen actually accepted. Her father and brother stared at her as if she was a dragon, but there was something about the girl that seemed to grasp the situation’s importance.

  “You’re not here for my aunt either, are you?” she asked, showing way more insight than I had expected. I wondered if Lliania was choosing children for her priesthood before they came of age. Things had changed and with humans breeding like rabbits, getting decent Lawspeakers wasn’t easy, I guess
.

  “No, little one, but…”

  The lass interrupted me, “You need to make sure you’re following the right path.”

  “Aye.”

  “You won’t hurt me.”

  This time, I thought I actually detected some of Lliania’s divinity in the child. There was this air of fierce determination around her, in her voice, her eyes. Yes, the lass was indeed hand chosen by Lady Justice. “No, child, I won’t.”

  “I shall aid you in your endeavor,” she said regally.

  I swear I was utterly taken aback, and I wondered if any of the innocents we had killed over the years in our pursuit of justice had been selected by Lliania as well. Since our badges hadn’t carved out our hearts, I think not, but who knows.

  Brisen the older and Rhonwynn returned momentarily, the girl inclined her head directing my attention to the gag that was dangling around her neck. I quickly replaced it in her mouth. She gave me a nod and a wink and assumed the most terrified expression I had ever seen on a child, and that includes some who were run down like wild dogs.

  Mother and aunt entered, and I turned theatrically, my cloak swirling around me. I found it helps if the entrance is dramatic.

  More ale? Here you go.

  “Cooperate, and no harm will come to anyone,” I said.

  Cynnor’s castellan nodded, her eyes darting about the room and focusing on her namesake. “What do you want?”

  “Right to the point, I like that,” I said, caressing my dagger’s pommel. “As the one responsible for the noble household of Lord Cynnor you are familiar with the law, correct?”

  “Aye,” she replied, shoulders slumping as she relaxed. “This is about Cynnor and his family not living in Ma’tallon for the prescribed time?”

  “Indeed it is.”

  “We are but his servants, he pays us, we obey.”

  “The fault lies with him, not with you. But since you know the law, you’re already aware of that, so please spare me irrelevancies.”

  “As you wish.”