Retaliation & Motive

In Echlion, Luenor stood before a group gathered around the stables. Among them stood Mira, the one-time bandit queen, in well-polished armor and an impressive flowing cloak.

"You will lead the takeover of Duskwatch's black market," Luenor said. "Make it ours-but listen. If and when the duke affects the duskwatch operation, you will know first."

Mira nodded, her granite face an unreadable mask. "What about the guards?"

"Buy them, bribe them, or break them. Just make sure there will not be no turncoat."

As Mira and her crew mounted their horses and rode off, Luenor watched them disappear into the forest trail, then turned and walked back toward the main building. His body still hurt, though his mind was sharper than it had ever been.

___

Elsewhere in the manor, Arwin sat on the edge of his bed, hands buried in his face. The blood was gone, washed away. But not the screams. Not the memory of a terrified woman gasping her last breath as his sword pierced her heart.

He didn't want to kill her. She just... was in the way.

A knock.

"Door's open," he muttered hoarsely.

Hunter entered the room, the door nearby flooding the dark untidy room with light, him towering over Arwin.

"You look like death," Hunter said dryly.

Arwin did not respond.

Hunter moved to the window ledge and perched there. "You know, when I served in war… they had us do worse."

Arwin looked up, hollow-eyed.

"Once," Hunter said, "we took a Ravani village during the winter campaigns. Women, children,… everyone. The duke didn't care. He wanted to send a message. So, I followed orders. I thought I was doing my duty."

Silence.

"Afterward, I could not sleep. Not for years. I drank. I fought. I tried to forget. Until one day, I met a knight. A woman. She was from House of Gardan. She told me I could still do something good. So I did."

Hunter stared directly into Arwin's eyes. "You killed a woman. You will carry that weight. You let it haunt you. That's normal. It should. But use that weight. Channel it. And make sure that you never raise your sword without a reason again."

Arwin swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Hunter stood and slapped his shoulder. "Just don't miss the target next time."

____

Echlion's sky was pale with construction dust as Telmar emerged from the dungeon halls. He wore a grim expression. Luenor, sitting on his bandaged throne of furs and wood in his temporary chamber, raised his tired but still sharp gaze to Telmar.

"Oh?" he asked.

Telmar exhaled slowly. "The knight and the wind mage have not uttered a word. I tried the usual methods with them. They are trained, and more scared of Duke Siegfried than they are of us."

Luenor slammed his fist into the desk beside him, cracking the edge of it. The sudden noise made Faren, stationed by the door, stiffen. "Still nothing from Mira?"

"None," said Telmar, shaking his head. "If the duke is planning something, he is doing a good job hiding it."

Luenor waved him off. "That's what worries me. He should have retaliated by now."

In the lower quarters, Lyssari remained close to her father. His chest rose and fell with the rhythmic strain of recovery. Thalanar, a once-trembling proud man, seemed diminished by exhaustion and by the folds of layered bandages. Lyssari wiped sweat from his brow. The glossiness of her eyes gave away she was quietly worried.

"You shouldn't have fought like that," she said softly.

Thalanar coughed lightly. A rasp came from his dry throat. "You're going to have to lead soon, Lyssari."

Lyssari's eyes grew wide. "You're not dying—"

"I'm not," he cut in gently. "But I am failing. The burden must pass and the elves must be led by one of their own."

"Luenor—" she began.

"Luenor is respectable but he is not one of us," he sighed and closed his eyes. "Our customs, our soul… it is buried in the roots of our forest, he cannot speak with the trees the way that you can."

Lyssari looked away, unsure of what to say. They fell silent, the space between simply thickening with their thoughtful silence; the slowness of the mana-infused lanterns was all the sound they shared.

_____

Night had dropped a heavy cloak over the burnt skeleton of Baron Ronney's mansion, only smoldering flames brushed against the frame of the charred estate causing sparks to shot up into the loneliness of the sky. 

A severed head sat upon a pike shinning bright under the red light of the raging fire behind it. The face was unmistakable, that of Baron Ronney, lifeless in an eternal grimace. 

Wrapping himself in the form of Alfrenzo, Luenor Sureva finally stepped down from his carriage and took in the ruins of fire silently. There were knights running around frantically, a water mage endlessly flooding the flames, screaming to release the demons inside of the castle. The mob was panicking, in fear, in anger, in questions. 

The old butler to the baron was kneeling near the licking flames and he was sobbing. "You did this!" he screamed. "You invited death, you brought destruction! You! The Duke! Fate curse your cursed houses!" 

Arwin was there and tried to reign in the frenzy being swept up by hysteria like fire igniting oil. Whispers becoming shouts. A young knight was shoved. A water mage lost control of the quenching water. 

Out of nowhere Marquis Winsor Duskwatch showed up, along with his son Argen, and devoted Ren. They seemed stunned at the whole affair.

"What is the meaning of this?" Winsor rumbled as he closed in on Alfrenzo.

Arwin took a step towards him, cautiously. "Marquis—"

"No!" Winsor barked. He raised his voice further through sheer anger. "This is the 'protection' you purport? This is to be our price for your games with dukes and black markets?"

"Careful," Arwin interrupted.

"You've made an enemy of the duke, and for what?" Winsor screeched, throwing up his hands. "To plant your little flag in the mud? To pretend the ghosts of the Surevas rise again?"

Alfrenzo remained quiet.

"You pride yourself on being protector? Where were you when my vassal – a noble of these realms – was burned alive, like cattle in his own home? You built this fire. You called it down upon us, and in your understanding you may have fooled the people of Echlion, but you didn't fool me. You're a devil clothed in ash for all to see!"

The old butler became agitated, weeping more stridently, his teeth clenched.

Ren set her hand on the hilt of the sword on her waist, glaring at Arwin.

Arwin drew his sword directly in response, gardé and deliberate.

Hunter stepped forward. His expression was cold, and he was so taken by emotion that if the marquis had uttered one more word, he would have ended it there.

Yet Alfrenzo wouldn't move. He looked at the fire, as if the embers held his past secrets and he belonged there. Still Winsor's voice ringing in his ears.

The smoke clouded the sky. The crowd yearned for more from the Craig as stood there, the flames reflecting off his masked face.

A message was communicated.

And the war had just begun.