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Chapter 253: Hidden costs of Hospitality – An exiles curse and complication
🕑 Added 2024-07-27 23:53:55 +0000 UTC“Those who foolishly pride themselves on their nobility mistake that which makes them noble, for it is only the virtue of their ancestors that gives them noble blood.”
Madeleine de Souvre
Someone was attempting to enter my master bedroom silently, but they had failed to account for the spring in the locking mechanism; the slight noise as the tumbler turned had been enough to wake me. I kept still, eyes closed as the man stepped through the secret door behind the fireplace, sending out my other senses to see if he was alone. Echolocation, Mana sense, Seismic sense and Sonar all showed me that whatever he was about to attempt, he would be doing it alone; they also revealed to me that it was none other than our tavern keeper, Xenodochus, who was attempting it.
The somewhat distracting and most fascinating aspect of Xenodochus’ sudden arrival was the fact that the secret passageway had somehow been hidden from my senses until it opened. I suspected human sigils had somehow been involved over elvish enchantments, giant glyphs or dwarven runes. They had somehow made the secret passageway look like solid stone to my senses before its opening.
The intruder, clearly somewhat lacking in the art of deception, whispered to himself as he crept into our room. His fixation on my supposedly sleeping form in the master bed had blinded him to the spatial vault yawning open behind him on the wall he had entered through.
However, as the Lodge’s owner, it was understandable for him to think he knew his own lodge. Still, he was unaware of the spatially remote but adjoined annexe we had added. In the end, and considering our last interrupted stay in an inn, we had chosen to sleep in the same room and placed the spatial vault on the wall next to the fireplace, a decision that would soon prove to be his downfall.
Namir had enough issues with humanity lying beneath his civility to avoid exacerbating him through differential treatment. That, along with the most recent clash with humanity in the last tavern we had tarried in, meant that he was taking his bodyguarding duties a little more seriously. Moreover, Nyx wished to be as close as possible to me after her frightening adventure. It had been a difficult decision between the bed and her usual nest. Still, ultimately, she had chosen the familiarity of her nest and stolen the soft pillows off the fluffy new bed to have the best of both worlds. I doubted Xenodochus would be retrieving them anytime soon, especially with his current clandestine actions.
Regardless of the thoughts running through my head, my senses showed that Namir had awoken and was making his own stealthy approach upon the man whispering his way towards me, which, if I was being honest, was the main reason why I was not panicking and rolling out of bed immediately. My calm rationality allowed me to decipher and consider his whispered words as I lay still in the face of danger, waiting to hear what else he might say that might show some on what he was attempting under the light of the lodestar.
“Keep it quick and simple,” he whispered to himself as he exited the fireplace once he had confirmed that my form had not moved upon his immediate arrival. Flickering shadows from the lantern he had left in the secret passageway stretched out ahead of him, already reaching over my supposedly slumbering form. I watched them slide up the wall opposite me. “At last, my exile will be over,” he said as the shadow on the wall raised its arm, and the dagger in its hands was outlined, ready to fall on my sleeping vessel.
Enough was enough; Namir would be upon him before the blade fell, but just in case, I used my newest skill and blinked down through the mattress and bedframe onto the floor as his dagger began its fall, sensing his shock as my body miraculously disappeared from below his blade. His shock and the speed at which it happened were not enough to stop his blade plunging through the covers and into the mattress in a strike that would slit my throat if it had not simply beheaded me.
Nyx was not the only one who could jump now, and although it was not yet a great distance, it was enough to escape his first attempt at backstabbing my sleeping body and the distance was all I had managed to achieve so far after practising after dinner and watching Nyx’s elegant escape from the cage that had held her.
I was immediately up off the floor, rolling out from under the bed, sword swept up and then levelled at the intruder’s face across the bed. Only to see Namir’s extended left-hand claws gripping the man’s neck while his right hand held his dagger hand twisted up behind his back after he had attempted to thrust it behind him on being caught. Namir had pounced in the momentary confusion as I disappeared, and the only way our unexpected visitor would escape now would be without his windpipe.
“It’s a bit early for a wake-up call.” I quipped, relieved to see him restrained and not decapitated. Even if I had grown a lot recently, both in terms of my vessel's size and the amplification of how the stats now applied multiplied by my increased muscle mass, it was pleasant to have our foe strongarmed into submission so that I could concentrate on what the hell was happening here. He had been so warm and welcoming on our arrival. Not just that but a breath of fresh air and a sense of civilisation from the familiar Principality of Ponente. His betrayal was incredibly confusing and somehow deeply disappointing. I had somehow expected better from my fellow countrymen.
Namir did not hesitate to begin the interrogation, “Explain.” He growled in the trembling and groaning man’s ear. With his arm forced back, he had to be in considerable pain, though the blood running down his neck from where the claws had already cut into him had taught him to stay as still as possible. So much so that he seemed almost frozen in fear. At least he had not pissed himself.
“I . . .” Xenodochus struggled to know how to start. It was impossible to come up with a worthwhile excuse when you were caught in the act of trying to murder your very own guest and being interrogated by the victim himself.
The silence stretched . . . and Namir’s claws tightened.
“It was the only way back.” He eventually hoarsely whispered, his words forced past his lips and unable to swallow as the action would only have caused the claws to cut deeper.
“Back where?” Namir added in his deep growl.
“The Principality of Ponente . . . home.” He gasped as he was still held half-bent forward over the bed in an incredibly painful position with his arm leveraged up behind his back in a grip that threatened to dislocate it with a single inch more pressure.
“How would my death undo your exile and let you go home?” I asked, building on what he had already revealed. I was curious to know the answer. The crown protected Aleera and me, or at least they were supposed to protect us until our coming of age. My death would not undo an exile; it would simply ensure his execution if the crown were to ever hear of it.
“There are never supposed to be more than a hundred lords, and I know them all.” He answered angrily after gasping a breath as Namir relaxed his claws a little, and the words began to flow.
“I know all their family lines and locations. There has never been a Lord of the Wester Isles when I was exiled.” He objected. “They were simply pioneer islands, so either you are fraudulently claiming noble blood, in which case your removal will prevent the Jarls’ significant embarrassment after this evening’s meal or your ridiculous statement is somehow true, and in that case, your death would redeem my noble blood.” He answered as if every statement of his was completely logical, not another layer of complexity that we were going to have to carve through to understand the truth.
“If you never believed my title of nobility, why such a warm welcome?” I asked, suspecting sadly that I would receive an amoral answer.
“Keep your guests close and your enemies closer.” There was no Sun Tzu on the Compass Kingdom’s continent, but that did not mean that the almost universal knife fighting and backstabbing did not exist within Ponentian politics. He was simply taking it a little more literally tonight. “I could not risk calling out a guest of the Jarl’s, especially publicly, and in my fallen state and exile; I serve at my lord’s pleasure.”
“What of your noble blood, and how would my death redeem it if I was who I said I was, the Lord of the Western Isles?” I dug a little deeper.
“I'm of a long and noble line. I was once Lord Xenodochus Chalcedon.” He grated out, either frustrated or embarrassed by his fall and exile. Or simply stressed by the pressure Namir was continuing to apply.
Our interrogation and conversation seemed to have awakened Nyx where the attempted silent assassination had not, and she blinked into position on the bed's headboard. Too lazy to make the climb up or jump up from the floor, she had slithered along as she crept out of my spatial vault.
Her sudden arrival shocked our captive into flinching, earning him some more lines across his throat before he was able to control himself and stop himself from moving any further. If he was not careful, he was going to cut himself too deep and bleed out before we got to the bottom of this and the end of my long list of questions. Sighing, I reached out with my left hand to touch his forehead, his eyes widening as he felt a heal swiftly close the collection of claw marks he was acquiring across his throat. The fresh skin stopped any more blood seeping into his already blood-soaked collar but did nothing for the pain Namir was still inflicting through his arm and shoulder.
“You can heal?” He asked, his eyes flicking between recently arrived Nyx and his interrogator, me.
“I’m asking the questions tonight. You are not in the position to demand anything. Let’s focus a little more on you, Xendochus. You were exiled and stripped of your title. What exactly did you do?” I asked, distracted by his emotions. There had to be a story behind them, and I dug a little deeper with my skills; attempting to read the truth behind his words, I focused on the thoughts in his mind.
“The court unfairly exiled me for treason by decree of the crown . . . I committed no treason.” His silent thoughts aligned with his declaration of innocence.
“They believed the fabrications of my older siblings who framed me with false evidence of fraternising with elvish spies from the Kingdom of Maestro. . . They were assassins, not spies, and they couldn’t even kill my brother without being caught, the incompetent elvish fools.” Hidden behind the words uttered were darker thoughts. We were not dealing with an innocent, whatever it might be that he claimed he was.
“And my death for redemption?” I struggled to understand this the most, and I kept Telepathy up to find out the real reasons behind his actions and unrepentant with the use of it on a man who had proved to have few morals of his own.
“You’re a coastal lord.” He answered aloud as if that was answer enough and explained all while his thoughts echoed along similar lines. “It’s as if he isn’t a Lord at all. Is he truly unaware of the two sides to politics in the Principality of Ponente, or is he just completely incompetent and oblivious?”
“And?” I prodded. Although I remembered the Lord’s envoys’ visit and the efforts we had taken to avoid becoming embroiled in the battle between the two sides of the coin that made up Ponentian Politics in the House of Lords.
“If you are Lord of Wester Isles, then you are automatically part of the coastal lord’s coalition under High Lord Larimar and oppose my own Landlocked lords under High Lord Carnelian. . . you idiot.” His uncomplimentary thoughts followed the words spoken out loud. While I tipped my head in question, concentrating on the multiple skills I was running rather than running my mouth further.
“Your vote could be the tipping point on many issues that have remained deadlocked for decades . . . I cannot believe I was caught by a Lord this naïve,” he said.
When I continued to wait in silence, he spelt it out further: “Your removal would maintain the status quo and prevent the coastal lords from gaining an advantage . . . if my older brother had been this inept at politics, I would never have needed to kill him, the court would have killed him for me. Curse this creature’s claws.” His words and thoughts continued to paint an unflattering picture.
“What is he waiting for? It’s as if he’s not even listening to me.” He thought before continuing out loud, “The landlocked lords under High Lord Carnelian would forgive all of my perceived sins if I prevented an imbalance in the court.” He explained as if it were obvious and clear for all to see. His internal voice even sounded condescending, though he was careful to keep it from creeping into his spoken words with Namir’s claws wrapped as closely as they around his throat.
“And the crown?” I finally asked as I caught up on the dual conversation running between the two us and digested both sets of words.
“Not everyone needs to know, certainly not the crown, just Lord Carnelian. His support would be enough to facilitate my return home . . . and this time, I would crush my brother in person rather than leave it up to someone else to do the deed. With Carnelian’s support, suspicious or not, I could ascend to head of the House Chalcedon.”
“Did you never consider that I might remain neutral?” Was it such a novel concept that no one had ever tried?
“There is no neutrality allowed in the House of Lords.” He interrupted, muttering internally, “And you and your supposed house are no way near strong enough to even think of attempting it.”
“It is not always about the strength of a house.” I countered. “I could align with the Prince and support the crown with my vote while retaining my neutrality.”
“No, you couldn’t . . .” He started out loud before stuttering to a stop. His eyes widened in shock, and his internal voice flew on in fear. “I never said his house wasn’t strong enough out loud.”
I’d made a mistake in answering his unspoken criticisms of my house. His internal thoughts ran on in fear distracting me from the decision I was going to have to make. “What kind of a monster am I facing? Lord of Wester Isles or Lure of the Lodestone Labrinyth? Jarl Njord will forgive my trespasses if I inform him. No, I’d never . . . In the light of the Lodestar . . . ” His thoughts stuttered once more before he attempted to bury his treacherous thoughts beneath a veil of piety, only a single thought thick.
Lifting my eyes from his, I met Namir’s and, rubbing my temples in frustration, informed him, “He knows I can read his mind.” I said as I contemplated the dilemma I was now facing.
“I’d never . . .” Were all the words he was able to utter before Namir closed his fist. Claws shredded through his throat.
Namir kept his right arm twisted behind him as his left attempted to somehow hold in the lifeblood pouring onto the bed. He collapsed into bed as the strength fled his legs along with his blood. It took only seconds before the light in his mind disappeared along with his life.
Shocked into stillness, I watched it happen. The dilemma of what to do was suddenly taken out of my hands. Could I have saved him if I hadn’t frozen? A swift heal would have kept his blood within his body. Would I have wanted to? He was hardly innocent and certainly not trustworthy.
“I guess we are taking an early exit this morning, then,” Namir callously commented across the corpse, now decorating my bed.
My mind re-engaged by the ridiculously casual comment. I shook my head to shake off the stupor. “There is no need to run. The truth of the matter should see us free. He did just attempt to assassinate me. You prevented it and killed him in the process. The evidence is overwhelming.” I pointed out the secret passageway behind him, and the knife still gripped his hand despite his death.
“And if it doesn’t?” he asked sardonically and slightly sceptically.
“Then we can run.” I sighed in response, “But it would be nice if we didn’t have to. Nyx, stop that!” I stopped her from licking up any more of the blood that was soaking into the sheets and picked her up. It was time to find out precisely how apologetic the Jarls were feeling about the accidental kidnapping of my companion and what they thought about the violent exsanguination of our admittedly guilty former host.
. . .
I knocked on the door firmly in the early hours of the morning. I waited patiently for it to open. “Sorry to wake you so early, but there has been an incident . . .”
Comments
Poutine Au Syrop d'érable
Nice. Moar pls. Whenever you have free time. Hopefully, one day, you'll be able to do this full time.
Carl Mason
Nice, hopefully the justice of the situation is as obvious as it appears. And the personal benefit to the local lord is clear: only the owner of the inn is dead, the service and goods provided will undoubtedly still be available. There is no way Xenodochus changed sheets and cooked alone.
