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Chapter 656: An Open Seat
🕑 Added 2023-08-19 23:04:14 +0000 UTC“The Saint of Thameland, eh?” The Stalker sat pondering his lord’s words.
Surprising words. Strange words.
As far as he knew, there was no enmity between the fae lord and the holy Hero of Uldar. Had the young man said something to offend Aenflynn?
He was easily offended, after all.
And what of his oath to the Heroes? Merzhin hadn’t broken any law of the fae wild, or betrayed either the lord, nor the realm of Och Fir Nog. So what was this all about, wouldn’t Aenflynn be breaking his own oath if he was to work against the Saint?
He presented his concerns to the taller fae, who simply laughed.
“Our oath specified the word you in my conversation with the Heroes, and at that time, we were only speaking with three of them; the Sage, the Champion and the Chosen,” Aenflynn said. “The Fool and the Saint are completely unbound by any oath to us, for better and for worse. They have full freedom to act, so it would be better if they were taken out of the situation, so to speak.”
“Fine by me, but it’s going to be a pretty boring hunt; the boy was close to being a broken shell when I last saw him.”
“Oh? You were at the Battle at Uldar’s Rise?” Aenflynn asked.
“I was close enough to nearly singe my beard, m’lord.” The Stalker gave him a grim smile. “If you were there, you would’ve seen explosions as bright and as hot as dragonfire, or even the sun’s breath. Life and death. Oaths given and wills shattered. All in all, it was good, bloody fun, I’d say; made me crave hunting the Fool even more. And you? You watched as well?”
“Indeed,” Lord Aenflynn said. “The mortals’ secrets are not as secret as they might think; I have known of Uldar’s secret enclave for as long as it has existed.”
“Right, and is it something that happened there that made you want to go against poor St. Merzhin?”
“No and yes.” Aenflynn looked up at the ceiling again. “There is an opportunity coming, my friend. An opportunity so grand and so succulent, that any number of fae lords, wizards, and mortal kings of the world would give their first born to take advantage of it. Yet, we are fortunate enough to have that opportunity simply fall at our feet, we only have to bend down and pick it up…we would be fools to let anything or anyone get in our way.”
“Aye, alright, I’ll take care of ‘im,” said the Stalker. “No two hunts are equal, after all. I’m sure the Fool’s hunt will more than make up for the Saint’s humdrum one. …what would be the payment for Merzhin’s life?”
Aenflynn smiled and took a deep sip from his goblet. “You have been asking me for longer than I can remember where you might lay your very capable hands on this vintage… So, how about this? If you kill the Saint when you finish your hunt of the Fool, then you shall not only know its name, but where you can get it as well. Further, I will supply you with a century’s worth.”
The Stalker lit up like a human child on Sigmus morning. “I won’t let you take that back, my lord!”
“We have no interest in taking anything back.” Lord Aenflynn raised his goblet. “You do this for us, and you will deserve your reward.”
“Hah! I knew there was a reason I stopped killin’ your warriors!” The Stalker toasted his lord. “Here’s to opportunities!”
“To opportunities.” Aenflynn drank deeply.
The stalker put his drink down. “Mm, speaking of that, you mind telling me what this opportunity you mentioned is about?”
“And spoil the surprise? Absolutely not!” Aenflynn chastised him.
“Oh come on, don’t tease me like that!” the Stalker said. “You have me all curious now!”
“Hm.” The fae lord looked at him evenly. “Fine, then. We will grant you a small piece of the puzzle. If you can put the rest together, you will have the knowledge you seek.”
“Goody, more riddles!” The Stalker rubbed his hands together like a greedy fly.
The lord set his goblet aside, looking back at the ceiling. “Long ago, a friend of ours missed an important date. It was the kind of date that one does not miss unless one is indisposed. And that friend was in a position to become indisposed. So I went to the deepest wells of my realm, where its power is greatest, and sought to read the winds of fate.”
He gestured to the shadowy images dancing in the emerald. “But they were more obscure to me then than these images are to you now. It was as though we were seeing far distant shapes through a milky fog; but, with what we suspected was likely to occur, we sensed that we would get our chance.”
“A chance at what, m’lord?” the Stalker asked.
“I will answer you this way; let us say you walked into this chamber.” Aenflynn said. “And you were handed a glass of wine. But, better wine was being served only to those seated at this table.”
“How much better.”
“Let us say that you are more than satisfied with the wine you were handed. You think it is delicious. But the wine at this table? You know it is even more delicious, even though you have never tasted it.”
“Well, I’d be curious about this mysterious wine, to be sure, m’lord.”
“Of course, so would anyone with blood in their veins,” Aenflynn said smoothly. “But, alas, every seat at the table is full. What then?”
“Am I looking to make enemies of those at the table? Can I just take the wine?”
“No, and no.”
“Hmmmm.” The Stalker puzzled. “Well, I like my own wine. So I’d keep drinking that. Maybe I’d get the chance to drink the other wine at another time.”
“Of course you would. Your life is long, and opportunities await. No sense in starting a fight with someone filling a seat…but let us say…someone were to leave the table.”
“Ooooohohoho, now things are getting spicy! I can taste the cinnamon already.” The Stalker clapped. “And am I invited to the table?”
“No.” Aenflynn’s eyes flared brightly. “In fact, no one is. But someone might just sit in that chair. Or the chair could be removed completely, leaving one less seat at the table. What would you do then?”
“Of course, I’d grab the seat before anyone else could get to the table, or before it was taken away!” the Stalker said.
Now Lord Aenflynn’s smile became sly. “Indeed. Of course that is what one would do…when there is an empty chair. Keep your ears open my friend, for my riddle is easy to solve. With the right information, the answer will fall into place. Now, go and see your hounds. We have kept you from your hunt long enough.”
“Aye, true, true, m’lord.” The Stalker stood up, stretching. “Say, could I get you to send your guards after me on the way out? I miss the chases of old.”
“Fie, begone with our blessing. We shall have no clownery in my castle today.”
“Bah, you’re no sport, I swear.”
###
“Well, well, well,” the Stalker said. “You’ve certainly been busy, haven’t you?”
The short, stocky fae looked around, taking in squat stone houses carved from the island’s rocky surface. Crops were springing up in plots and gardens around them, and the beginnings of a road was being cut into the earth.
Uldar’s displaced servants were hard at work, transforming their barren refuge into a new home and fortress that would provide them with protection against the elements, and enemies.
Tall stone walls had been raised around the settlement, and the Stalker sensed a powerful divine ward sheathing the small island. In a nearby lagoon, a number of priests were working away, catching fish, cleaning and drying some on flat rocks, and smoking others over low flame.
Others were carving boats from the island’s sparse trees.
Standing at the centre of their new settlement, was a rough-hewn church dedicated to Uldar, the very first structure that they’d raised.
The white hand of Uldar seemed to wave at the Stalker as he took in the labour of his hounds.
“We have indeed been busy,” Third Apostle Izas answered the fae’s question, standing at his side while viewing the community with pride. “Hard work and holy toil are excellent balms for grief, and they have the added benefit of providing us with shelter, food, and drink while also preparing us to dispense retribution.”
“Aye, it seems I’ve picked some real good ones to hunt with!” The Stalker rubbed his hands together. “And speaking of that, we should be ready for the hunt soon. Where might your fearless leader be?”
“The First Apostle is in seclusion, contemplating Uldar’s will and what needs to be done so we may serve him,” the Third Apostle said. “He’s instructed me to meet with you and speak with his full authority. We are to discuss the hunt.”
“Ah, of course. So, when will you all be ready?” the Stalker asked.
“In half a month’s time, we will be completely secure, and the seeds of destruction will be growing throughout Thameland,” Izas said matter-of-factly.
“Oho? Care to tell me what it is you mean? No wait, tell it to me as a riddle! I love riddles!”
“I will speak plainly.”
“Ah, boo!”
“We have sent a few agents back to the mainland to begin spreading word of the Fool’s identity,” the Third Apostle said. “But their number is small, and since there are so few of us now, they must move slowly and with caution to avoid discovery. Without holy leader Eldin here to coordinate those activities, things are harder.”
A sorrowful look crossed his face, followed by one of pure rage.
With a single breath, he banished all emotion.
The Stalker filed the reaction away for later. It always paid a kennelmaster to know how to motivate their hounds.
“We will have to learn to live without Eldin,” the Third Apostle sighed. “But as followers of Uldar, we are focused and must become used to loss. But, forgive me, I am rambling. Those we sent out were to meet agents already embedded across Thameland. Even as we speak, the information is spreading. I estimate that—within a week or so—it would have reached well placed lords of the realm, and highly positioned members of the church. Within a couple of weeks, High Priest Tobias Jay and King Athelstan Merciex will know. Then? The Fool will be made to return home. And he will be ripe for our hunting.”
“Ahhhh a solid plan, a solid plan.” The Stalker ran a hand through his beard. “Better to hunt him here than in his faraway city.”
“We could not hunt him in Generasi,” the Third Apostle said.
“Oh?”
Isaz shook his head. “Sadly, our order has been badly wounded: we cannot risk the wrath of an entire city of powerful wizards. Not while our strength has been robbed from us. Even were we at full strength, opponents like them should not be trifled with. If such a battle was to be brought to Uldar’s shores, that would be one thing; we would defend his realm as any of his servants should. But to attack mindlessly, would visit apocalyptic wrath down on his already wounded people when there are other ways. We cannot afford to be short-sighted, arrogant, blasphemous and unwise.”
“Hmmmm, a fair point. We don’t want to be going up against anything we can’t fight proper. That’s not a hunt, that’s more like inefficient suicide.”
“Yes,” agreed the Third Apostle. “Once the Fool returns to Thameland, though—or leaves the protection of his city—we will track him and quickly slay him.”
“Good, good, so the hunt should begin proper in about a month or so?” The Stalker frowned. “Right, that’ll let me get my magics all good and ready; then he’ll never be able to get away from us.”
“What will be your plan to track him?” The Third Apostle asked. “We have learned he is wily, and prone to use different methods of escape.”
“Aaaaaahhhh, don’t you worry, my friend. We fae have been hunting since long before you mortals knew how to form mouth-grunts into real speech; our wild hunts are something fierce to see, and we’ve got ways of tracking quarry that would make any mortal hunter swoon with envy.”
“Speak plainly.” The Third Apostle said flatly.
“Bah! No fun to be had from anyone lately!” the Stalker whined. “Ah, fine. Plain it is. We fae have the magics of oath and name forged in ways that’d melt your mind, my young—” the fae touched the aged mortal’s long beard. “—friend.”
He raised his face to the sky, howling his words like a wolf. “Alex Roth the Fool of Thameland! Names have power if a person answers to them, and since I know his names. I have power over him.”
The Stalker chuckled darkly. “He could hide behind the moon for all the good it’d do, and I’d still find him.”
###
In the distance, a ship crashed through the waves.
Hunting.
Looking for pirates or cultists to collect bounties on.
Through a spyglass, its first mate peered at the island. It appeared he was looking at a rocky wasteland. “I told you, Captain, there’s nothing there.”
“Damn it, I thought that fisherman’s tip was worth something,” Fan-Dor, captain of the Red Siren, swore, his thick fingers clinging to the taffrail. “The hells with this, the summer’s getting on, the weather’s getting cooler, and there hasn’t been a good haul since we took that pirate-scow last month. Maybe we should go back to Generasi for a while. Might be good business down there.”
The captain’s dark eyes shone.
“And more excitement than this, with any hope.”
###
Author's Note
Hello twenty-eight cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
Yooooo wassup everybody. Listen my custodes army looks soooo frickin fool.
Should I post pics on facebook? Lmao
Cya Tuesday!
Comments
Hans Leeuw
For someone with the mark of the fool, doing propaganda would be second nature. So, he should be able to use subterfuge more smartly to undermine the efforts of the church to give him a bad rep in Thameland. Just like how the pie shop defamation was thwarted. Probably too late to add to the story arc....
ItWasIDIO!!
Pulling out the TRUE names
MasBoss
Pics of your army please and thank you.
