by Will Molinar
Zandor didn’t like the man’s tone. At all. But since he already decided what needed to be done, he stayed civil. “I’m beginning to think you don’t believe in me anymore. Didn’t used to be that way. You used to think pretty well of my ability. Yer startin’ to hurt my feelings, boss.”
Harper sat back and looked somewhat contrite. He stapled his fingers in front of his face and thought. “I’ll see what I can do. Make the preparations.”
Zandor smiled and stood. “Heh. You got it. Be seeing you.”
Zandor left in search for as many men he could get on such short notice. His own group of trusted subordinates would not be enough. Janisberg was a city below the level of population of Sea Haven, but it was still considered a large city. Its nightlife was no less robust if you knew where to look. And Zandor knew well.
He went to a blacksmith’s shop he visited often, speaking with the proprietor and the apprentice smiths. Most times there were a lot of tall, strong youths looking to build on their experience of the trade.
Zandor knew the most senior of them. A large lad with wide shoulders and a tight waist, the kind of man Zandor could never be. Likable, handsome, young, wanted by women. His name was Edward, and the strapping lad was busy showing a few of the others how to fold the steel on a rather large sword.
“Hey, Eddie,” Zandor said and leaned back against an anvil stand. The metal was warm due to the heat of the room.
The youth, wearing a heavy leather apron, thick gloves, and pants with pads over the front, held a glowing red sword in one hand. It might’ve been hard for any normal man to hold with two.
He glanced over at Zandor. “It’s Edward, sir.”
Some of the others chuckled while Zandor scowled. “Huh? You been Eddie your whole life, kid, ever since you left your mother’s teat.”
“I’m a grown man now, sir. I prefer to be called my given name, which is Edward.”
Zandor shrugged. “Okay, fine then, Edward.” He looked around at all of them. “I got a job for you young fellas. How’d you like to make a little coin?”
Even the grumpy Edward perked up at the mention of getting paid. The others came forward in front of Zandor.
“How much?”
“What’s the job, Zee?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Settle down, boys. You’ll find out in due time. Do me the kindness, though, of rounding up some more guys like yourselves, plenty of strong boys that don’t mind getting their hands dirty, boys that can fight, know what I mean? ‘Bout twenty oughta do it. Can you handle that?”
A chorus of assent greeted him, and Zandor smiled. This is what was needed.
* * * * *
The candle flickered whenever he allowed a breath to leave his body. So close was the burning wax to his face. The handsome man tried to measure it out, slow and steady, and at the same time control the rapid beat of his heart, but it took time. Raging emotions warred within his breast, and if he did not control them, they would control him.
If his heart did not slow, Castellan was certain it would burst from his chest. A nervous tick, tapping his fingers on the tabletop before him in the same sequence, left and right forefinger followed by the ring fingers followed by the otter then middle, it had developed within the last few minutes.
“Traitor….” The word escaped his lips without conscious thought, like a sword being drawn from its sheath, or the deep rumbling steam from a boiling kettle.
All of them were traitors, not just Muldor. This was a conspiracy, plain and simple, from the top all the way to the bottom. Castellan was under no pretenses there were enemies. It was to be expected during a rise to power, but this was different.
These fools jeopardized their own future. Nobody could see the Castellan was only helping the city prosper. The old regime was tired and ineffective. The people suffered for no reason. His way was the only way to pull them out of despair.
People both feared and respected him, due to his position in the hierarchy of the city. The Guild was influential and so necessary to the functioning of the city they needed him more than any other single figure, including the fools on the city council.
His breathing increased, and he fought to quell the rising anger. The candle fluttered and threatened to extinguish. Holding his breath, he counted. Ten, twenty, thirty….
Enough. Time to take action.
Muldor could not have acted alone, for the man was too cautious. Very steady and safe thinking. Castellan’s former second never took chances like this, never. Madness had made him betray Castellan, the Guild, the only life he ever cared for. It made no sense.
Cubbins had to be behind it, too because he had men on the inside. His jailors would do whatever he ordered. Castellan didn’t believe that Muldor tricked them and assaulted the turn key. Preposterous. There was much more going on than any of these traitorous curs were leading on.
Jerrod and his men were nowhere to be seen. They should have been there. Castellan paid them well enough to expect some lateral thinking. They had experience in these matters.
No, no more of this. Time to move. He went to his dresser and fitted the rich red cape across his shoulders. He didn’t like how it felt on his back because it was off balance; much like Castellan’s agents in the field. It all smelled bad. Something was going on behind his back, and Castellan would not abide it.
The Guild Master fixed his cape and saw the crystal necklace hanging over his silk maroon shirt. It looked so perfect. The silver was a nice contrast against the deep red of the shirt. The crystal was a nice, exotic touch that felt hot.
They wanted what the Guild had; control, power, money, influence, all the things foolish men craved but had no use for. Only the worthy could wield the strength at his fingertips, for few have the courage and skill to do so.
Finding them out was key. Discover their goals, their strengths, and weaknesses, for to know the enemy was to able to defeat them. That was it. How typical of them to seek to overthrow him already, so soon after his own victory. Perhaps his victory was not yet complete.
The Arc Lector had told him before. Childish reactions were to be expected when one tried to change the world. It was his job to show them the errors of their judgment. Castellan would set them on the path to enlightenment. It was only fair and just to do so. To teach the lesser people would be his privilege, his duty, for the good of all mankind.
Act now. Act….
“Captain Peyton,” Castellan said, ducking his head outside his bedroom door. The captain of his personal guard snapped to attention and saluted.
“Sir!”
Castellan ordered him to retrieve Captain Cubbins, regardless of his situation. Soon the chief of police of Sea Haven stood before him.
Cubbins was a young looking man, mid-thirties with thick brown hair cut short and masculine features. He was more handsome than brutal, yet there was a thickness to his tall frame that made Castellan think of a more streamlined and shorter Jerrod. The policeman was not nervous as Castellan expected. Rather, he appeared brazen and pissed off.
“I want you to keep this jailbreak under wraps in your department. Tell no one. Instruct your officers to not speak of it, under severe penalty. Is that understood?”
“Fine.”
“How many of them know?”
“I’ve kept it restricted. Only four men were on duty at the time, including Sergeant Bigus and the turn key. I’ve told them to not talk about it to any of the others. But men will talk….”
“It is your job to stop them from talking!” Castellan’s face grew red, and his pulse quickened. ‘Calm yourself,’ he thought. ‘Show some serenity, a strength of character, control.’
Sending Cubbins on his way, he brooded. Cubbins was a part of this insurrection. Castellan would be embarrassed, the entire Guild would suffer if people knew the second highest ranking member, Muldor, was a traitor. Everything would fall apart. Castellan wouldn’t allow it.
The outside air felt cold and refreshing as his
cavalcade of guards strolled towards city hall. The men wore their full regalia, all armed and armored with their best. Castellan’s cape flew in the wind, bouncing on his shoulders and giving the occasional snap against his horse’s flank.
They didn’t bother speaking with the guards outside the municipal building. Castellan was to be admitted at any time, such was his current standing with Lord Cassius. Soon, the Guild Master stood outside the doors to the meeting room where all the members of the council sat in session.
Castellan was no longer upset or drained. This was his destiny, his duty to all. They would listen, for they had no choice. There was a strong sense of righteousness to every action.
The room had a single table shaped in an elongated oval, much too large for the number of members, but of course the arrogant men had retainers and aides. They passed them papers or wiped their noses or whatever else the simpletons needed. Castellan didn’t bother keeping the sneer from his face as he walked to the center of the oval. He stood before Lord Cassius.
Most of the current conversations were divided in manner as they quieted down, each portion of the table spoke with their closest neighbor or with another close by on a separate topic. It looked like a normal get together for them; ineffective and inefficient.
Everyone stopped speaking as Castellan waited for their full attention. Cassius glanced at him, and Castellan read enough in the man’s eyes to know he was still cowed.
The temporary Lord Governor sat back and clicked his tongue. “Guild Master Castellan, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t realize you were making an appearance here today. How may we help you?”
Castellan smiled and made a slight bow. “Forgive my intrusion, gentlemen, but I have important news for all of you, news that affects every one of us.”
The Guild Master stepped around the edge of the table, pacing so that each man had to change their eye line in order to watch him. Some, like Raul Parkins the city watch liaison, looked at him with confusion. Others, like the commerce department head, watched Castellan with steady alertness. The two men knew each other well though Castellan had not spoken with him in some time.
Cubbins wouldn’t look at him, and Castellan felt a flash of annoyance the man was even there. He should’ve been doing his job and coordinating Castellan’s plans with his officers. Lord Oliver Damour was the late Lord Governor’s cousin, and Falston had only appointed him to the council because of their blood relation. He was a non-entity and would do whatever Cassius, the de facto highest ranking officer in the city, told him to.
The city planner and treasurer were old men, a bean counter and a failed engineer. Castellan had no time to focus on them as they were nothing.
Nikoli Peterson, though, was trouble. The handsome, gray haired man stared daggers at Castellan as he strolled around the table. He no doubt suspected how Falston had met his end. As head of the royal guard, he was responsible for the safety of the ruling class, and the failure to protect Falston weighed on him every second of the day and night. Castellan thought that should teach him obedience. Anger would make him foolish.
“Now,” Castellan said, “I do appreciate you taking the time out of what must be an important meeting. Our fair city is at a crossroads, with only destruction and internal turmoil as our fate if a change is not made.”
Castellan stopped and stood behind Cassius. He waited the necessary amount of time for dramatic effect and put his hands on the back of Cassius’ chair. It would make him appear more regal as if he were backing a plan created by the Lord Governor’s aide.
“The Lord Governor has been killed, murdered by street thugs in the market riot. The fault lies not in the honorable men responsible for his protection, no.” He made a point to gaze right at Peterson. The man bristled but held his tongue. “The fault lies in the city’s environs and how the culture breeds contempt for our ruling class.”
It was enjoyable to slide in the idea that he was a member of the ruling class, very smooth. Some of them still looked confused or bored.
“What the hell are you talking about, Castellan?” Parkins said. “What does your position in the Guild have to do with civil unrest?”
Castellan smiled, for that was the question for which he waited. “I have come to tell you that.” Toward the doorway were Lance Peyton and his guard. Castellan raised a hand and into the room came a dozen men. They formed a circle around the table, standing behind the councilmen with halberds at the ready. Some of them murmured at the aggressive move, but Castellan called for calm. “These men represent the strength of the Guild in these times of woe. They are here for your protection. It has become obvious the normal chain of defense has weakened, and we must protect ourselves from harm.”
“What are you saying, Castellan?” Damour said. “Are you offering your personal bodyguard to us? To use as we want? I have my own, as do we all.”
The others murmured consent, those that bothered with personal protection.
“In a sense,” Castellan said. “The city will now be under the protection of The Merchants Guild. We have hired many extra men to safeguard us against foreign attack.”
The councilmen broke their silence at once, all those save Lord Cassius and Captain Cubbins. The others yelled or spoke to one another, asking what Castellan meant by these words of portent. They had heard of no such attack.
“My agents have learned,” Castellan said as the hubbub died down. “My agents have learned that the city of Janisberg, our nearest neighbor to the south and chief import competitor, has put into motion a plan to take over our enterprise. They will reinstate the agent for the crown, under their own auspices and our city will be, in effect, taken from us.”
Silence reigned for a moment as the men mulled that notion over. Then the room exploded into disbelief at the idea anyone could do that, even a powerful rival such as Janisberg. Castellan let them wear themselves out with their prattle, all the while staring at Peterson, challenging him.
Not every voice was in opposition. Some wanted answers.
“What’s this, then?” Raul Parkins said. The city watch commander sat forward and pointed at Castellan. “What forces do we not have that we need, eh? I got several hundred men.” He flicked a thumb towards Peterson. “He’s got the Royal Guard, and we got Cubbins’ force to use. What am I missing? We can fend off plenty.”
Some agreed with him, but Castellan was unmoved. “It is better to err on the side of caution, don’t you agree? To win in war is to be in a position of utmost supremacy, thus ensuring victory. We can do no less, in order to preserve the way of life our citizens deserve.”
Nicoli Peterson, his dirty blonde beard bristling, could no longer control himself. He banged the top of the table with his fist, and the man next to him jumped.
“Your organization is not recognized by this council. If this theatrical charade is meant to intimidate us, you have failed. You could kill every single one of us here, and it won’t change a thing.”
Some of the other murmured at the last remark, but Castellan almost laughed. He walked over to the inside of the table facing Peterson. “My dear Lord Peterson, whatever do you mean, ‘kill you’? If my display of strength with my personal bodyguard has frightened you, I can provide your own troops with the proper training to protect you.”
The Royale Guard commander was not amused. His hand opened and closed several times as the two men stared each other down. Castellan had a slight smirk on his handsome features, Peterson’s rather sallow face dark. His blonde beard, with streaks of grey, bristled with every breath he took.
“I will see your end in this,” Peterson said. “I swear it.” He stood, and with his retainers in tow, left the room.
Castellan smiled and turned back to the others. “Seems our respected compatriot has other pressing matters which require his attention. I trust you will keep him up to date on what transpires in this meeting? Very well.”
Raul Parkins shuffled in his seat. “Well, then, you wanna tell what is transpiring, Cast
ellan? I’d like to know what’s going on here.”
Others agreed. Castellan nodded and looked contrite. “Allow me a moment, gentlemen, for I have much to tell you.”
The Guild Master paced, making certain they were all watching him move, trying to look regal and confident. “You see, my dear councilmen, I foresaw this catastrophe, and now I feel shame having not brought it to your attention beforehand. This is why the Guild has worked with such diligence, to build our resources for the coming hardship. There could be riots; the people are unhappy; there is despondency and indecency already.
“Look at the depravity that even now takes place in the streets of our city. Whores are allowed to work their dirty business without lawful interference. Thieves are allowed to do theirs, and the city does nothing, nay, they approve of the activity!” He paused and let the last statement linger.
“And what of the betting tents, where crackpot dealers and money laundering took place every day? Why, we shut down their doors, and I tell you the city is better for it. I wish the same for the horrid conditions of the fighting arena, where men are treated like animals for the amusement of the mob. Too long we have lived with the moniker Murder Haven. I say the time has come to cast off this troublesome reputation and live with dignity. It is time, for the betterment of all, to make amends with our god, our almighty creator. Our very souls are at stake.”
The last was a bit dramatic, and some of them were known to be non-believers, but Castellan’s belief was too strong in his heart to leave it out. Others seemed interested in what he was saying, and paid attention.
Lord Cassius tapped the top of the table and pursed his lips. “You understand of course, that the city makes a great deal of revenue from the taxes of these enterprises. We were only now deciding how to balance the budget on the removal of the betting tents from our records. We thought of reopening them. This is a difficult time, as you say.”
The statement was clear. Cassius did his best to both placate the others but remain loyal to Castellan. He still feared him and feared for his life. Good. Castellan sighed and nodded, holding his hands behind his back in a thoughtful pose.
