Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  Nilanis cut him off before he could carry on further in his charade of offense. “Be silent, creature,” he barked. “Why have you docked here?”

  The gnome paused a moment to smooth down his falsely wounded pride and then leaned forward. “Fo…” he whispered.

  Nilanis crouched down lower. “What?” he asked, acutely aware of the visible tangle in the gnome’s grey beard. If he could just… cut the knot out…

  “Four.”

  Nilanis straightened and the gnome whirled swiftly about and began to bob away toward the ship. ‘Four…?’ he repeated to himself blankly. His eyes widened then. “Wait! Did a man get off your ship?!”

  The gnome turned and waved. “Have a good night, My Lord!”

  Nilanis opened his mouth to call out again, but quickly let his jaw snap shut. Such a vague response… was it a gnome’s childish sense of humor or the location of his mercenary? He pursed his lips. Why hadn’t the damn creature just whispered what he needed to know?! Four! It’s not like anyone could hear a damn word going on in the ruckus around them! He looked back toward the gnome and hurried after it, ignoring a sailor’s attempt to shove another cargo list before him.

  He caught the gnome by the shoulders and spun him around, which was unsurprisingly easy to do. “What does ‘four’ mean?” he demanded.

  The gnome’s brows knit as he regarded the elf disdainfully. His fat little fingers pried Nilanis’ smooth hands away. “I don’t know. I had a weird fellow on the ship this time and he said to find you and say four. Weird fellow. One of them. Four. Now if you’ll be excusing me.” And with that, he stiffly strutted away, as though it was the elf’s presence that had offended him.

  Nilanis straightened indignantly. What did he have to be so worked up about? He was just a gnome! He eyed the ship in the distance, his interest in it rapidly dwindling.

  Four. …So he had returned.

  His desired information in hand, a great part of him wished to depart for home—no doubt he would be late for dinner with Ilsevel if he waited for the last ship. And yet, he could not help but let business detain him. ‘Damn humans. Never punctual!’ He lowered his hands and restlessly watched as the last ship came to port.

  *

  The smell of roasted lamb, baked and slathered with freshly churned butter, hung heavy in the air as Nilanis stepped through the wide, grand doors of his estate. He raised his nose and smiled affectionately. Ah, what a succulent scent. How Ilsevel spoiled him!

  “My Lord,” the servant behind him began as he closed the door to the flowery scent of the city outside. Much better—it clashed something terrible with the imminent meal. “Lady Esera is waiting for you in the dining hall.”

  In slow confusion, Nilanis raised a brow as he unfastened the clasp from his neck. “Lady Esera. Who…?”

  Veletris took his cloak and brushed a bit of dust from his chest.

  ‘Ugh, probably from that foul human…’ Nilanis thought disdainfully as he recalled the man’s horrendous smile and audacious proximity.

  “Lady Esera is the widow of the late Lord Ceulris. Ilsevel asked her here on your behalf.” The male looked up expectantly, wiry frame stiff and attentive for his next command. When the El’adorium gave him none, he stepped back beside the door, vanishing into the shadows as though he had never been.

  Which was precisely what he was hired for.

  Nilanis raised a brow as he turned. ‘Ah… a proposed courtship…’ he thought to himself, amused at his daughter’s interest in his status. At least Ilsevel would be there as well. He had little interest in females since the death of his wife. Even with as many centuries as had gone by, her passing still felt rather near. He looked fondly at the old architecture from the Farvian ruins as he passed by on his entrance into the dining hall.

  The table in the center of the grand room had been lavished with fine foods and wines, but Nilanis was dismayed to note that Ilsevel’s seat was empty. Not of just herself, but of all semblance of dining ware. ‘What is this…?’ His eyes landed on the female sitting awkwardly across from his own chair, hands folded into her lap as she waited for someone to arrive.

  Nilanis’ cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he hurried to his seat. “Forgive me,” he grieved, pausing before his seat and taking a moment to straighten the gold buttons of his shirt, presuming his slow and stately movement was a sign of his importance and authority. Perhaps it was a good reparation of the situation. “My business at the Port of Targados was quite substantial today.” He sat down slowly and folded the silken cloth across his lap. “Lady Esera, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He had passed by the usual courtesies of hand kissing and eyelid batting—he did not want to lead the lady on further than she already had been. “Has Ilsevel left the table…?” he questioned, even as he noted once more that there was no indication that any place had ever been set for her.

  The blond-haired lady smiled forcefully, the same sort of sickly sweet smile Hairem had worn the entirety of his dinner not that long before. “I’m afraid your daughter said that she will be unable to join us. She said that urgent business has called her away.”

  Urgent business… Nilanis could not help but chuckle softly to himself. ‘Ah, Ilsevel. That is your point, is it?’ She had said little to him after he had left her alone with Hairem, but he imagined that this was her concocted form of revenge. He shook his head with a slightly amused smile. What a difficult queen she would have made!

  Lady Esera picked up her wine glass. “Oh, no, it is quite alright, My Lord.”

  There was discomfited silence between them for a moment as the servants filled their plates with food and Nilanos attempted to remember what her response was in reply to.

  “These chandeliers are from Ryekarayn,” he offered after a moment, noticing the lady’s eyes glance upward. “Exquisite, are they not? No doubt there are a dozen such chandeliers in the king’s palace.”

  The lady regarded the numerous crystals of the chandelier with greater interest. “Do you think?”

  Nilanis raised his wine glass and sipped it slowly, puffing out his chest in due pride. “Why, of course. I am quite close to the king, as you would imagine.”

  The lady nodded her head expectantly. Of course she must already think this. He was the El’adorium, after all.

  Nilanis set his glass down, seizing further advantage of his proximity to the king. “Why, just recently Hairem asked himself over to dine with Ilsevel and myself and stayed afterwards just to hear Ilsevel play the lyre. No doubt she must have impressed him with her exceptional abilities. And to think, he has all of those palace musicians to compare her to…” He trailed off, watching the lady cock her head slightly to the side, as though thoughtful.

  “I—”

  “Of course, I am not one to boast,” Nilanis continued swiftly, sniffing. “She most certainly acquired such talents from her mother.” He took a small bite of lamb so as to not disrupt his stride. “No doubt you are a magnificent singer as well—a female of your high standing.”

  “Well—”

  “But then I just waste your time with such rhetoric. How do your estates fair? Do you oversee the business now?”

  The lady had just taken a bite of food and Nilanis took this as a queue for him to continue to carry their meeting.

  “I have had to hire a legion of workers to help me manage the ports. There is, of course, my personal selection of guards, the ship’s cargo logs, their origin books, the captains to meet, and news to keep myself informed of… No doubt a lady of your standing is quite well informed.”

  The lady smiled weakly and opened her mouth half-heartedly to respond. Nilanis frowned slightly. She was certainly a quiet female. This was Ilsevel’s choice?

  Ah well, he’d have to sustain them further. “The latest news from Ryekarayn is, of course, the famine. They are just in the beginnings of it, but the pirates have already begun to prepare by laying siege in the continent’s far south, starting with, perhaps, even the Eph’ven, I imagine. They ha
ve even made bold attempts against several of Sevrigel’s prestigious ports. In vain, of course.”

  The lady smiled once again. Is that all she could do?

  He fell silent for a moment, turning his mind over for some question that might interest him about her. He could think of none.

  “Lord Nilanis,” the lady began hesitantly, “what is four?”

  Nilanis stiffened. “Four…?”

  The lady pointed with her knife toward his plate. “Yes…”

  He looked down, raising his brows in surprise. He had scratched “four” into the remainder of his food. Was his mind that preoccupied with the assassin? He pursed his lips, swiping it away with the fork. “Business,” he replied curtly. “What businesses are you involved with…?”

  “Cotton trade,” she replied, looking up from his plate. “I have been advocating the increased importation of cotton and the lowering of its tax…”

  Nilanis dabbed off his lips. What time did his mercenary expect him? It must be nearly seven. Had he expected him at four? No. His room number, perhaps?

  The lady cleared her throat. “I have a son of two hundred. Close to your daughter’s age, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps we should introduce them one day?”

  But how would the mercenary know his room number before he had even arrived at the inn? Nilanis frowned. He had a good idea of where he was staying, at least. There was only one inn which would admit the likes of him.

  “…Is she already betrothed…?”

  Nilanis looked up, sliding out his chair as he considered leaving promptly. No, that would be terribly suspicious… “I’m afraid business distracts me. You were saying?”

  The lady’s smile faltered. “About your daughter…”

  *

  Nilanis escorted Lady Esera from his mansion after dessert. As the door opened and the lady stepped out into the warm summer evening, Nilanis could see the moon had risen high into the night sky, the stars glittering around its soft yellow glow. It was a good evening to see him. Though it had grown rather late for one to be about the streets.

  Ah, it could not be helped now.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Lady Esera.”

  The lady nodded once before she hurried away down the steps, dully silent even at their farewell.

  He tsked his head incredulously. Never mind that. He had work to do. But first, he supposed he had an apology to give. He retreated into his estate and made for the living quarters, straightening as he went. “Ilsevel, you have made your point,” he spoke to himself, smiling fondly. She had such a fierce spirit, no doubt a trait she had acquired from him.

  He stopped before her door and knocked softly on the jagged edges of its sharply ornate design. “My dear, I shall not embarrass you like that again,” he began, wondering briefly why they did not have more hospitable doors. He shook his hand out as he waited for a response.

  “Are you asleep? Ilsevel?” he tried again. But only silence greeted him.

  Ah, it was late. Ilsevel was likely already in bed. He would have to speak to her in the morning. “Goodnight, my dear,” he whispered tenderly as he turned.

  Now finally, there was business to attend to.

  The door opened suddenly before he had even fully turned away. Ilsevel’s fair face peered out through the crack, sheepish in its gaze as it drew him back to her. “Are you mad?” she asked slowly.

  Nilanis chuckled slightly, turning about and smiling fondly at his lovely daughter. “Mad? No, my dear.”

  Ilsevel’s nose wrinkled once as though joining in his amusement, and smiled beneath closed lips. How like her mother she looked! And that expression!

  He leaned forward and kissed her lovingly on the forehead. “Goodnight,” he spoke softly. He stepped back, adjusting one of his golden buttons subconsciously, and turned about.

  “You’re going out, aren’t you.” Nilanis could almost hear her head cock in question.

  He paused. Her perception was unnerving at times. He wondered what had given it away. He had been rather short in his response. Or perhaps his fuss of his appearance—he always found his mind subconsciously drawn to such subtleties before going into the public. “Just for a little while,” he smoothly replied. Such lies were second nature to him now. He turned his head back enough to see her from the corner of his eye.

  “What for?” she persisted, drawing her robes around herself as she opened the door fully. She eyed him expectantly, crossing her arms before her chest.

  Nilanis shook his head once, sternly this time, no longer taken by her sweetly coy charm. “This is something you may not know, Ilsevel. I cannot tell you everything.”

  “Sometimes,” she responded, putting a hand on the side of the door, “I feel like you tell me nothing.” She closed it with a quiet, but definite, snap.

  Nilanis turned with a sigh. Well that had gone short and rather poorly. But it could not be helped: the matter of the assassin he would take to his grave.

  *

  ‘Is this where the man is staying?’ Nilanis wrinkled his nose in disgust. To think a building so rundown and miserable could reside in such a fair city! He drew his hood low over his face as a large human squeezed past him in the hallway. Gods, he could let no one see him in such repulsive squalor!

  There was no Poverty Den in Elvorium. No Thieves’ Nest. No paupers, beggars, or Skint District—certainly not in a Sel’varian city and especially not in Elvorium. There was, however, a shady district of sorts. After all, it was the small section of the city where humans and other non-elves resided while docked in the Port of Targados. Unlike the rest of the city, here the buildings showed a degree of wear and age.

  The establishment he had just entered was a particularly sad estate. In its glory days it had been the home of the previous port master, but had since been remodeled as an inn for non-natives. The outside had given way to grime and faded paints, and the inside was worse: walls and floors begged for mercy as the spiders danced along their glinting, silky strands strung across the ceiling.

  ‘Disgusting…!’ was his understatement of the century.

  As he traveled down the hallway, the door to room four opened ahead, suddenly and perceptively, just wide enough for a mop of hair to poke through. The dark eyes narrowed. “Ah, Nilanis, my friend,” the man cooed quietly. He stood back, throwing the door wide and sweeping a low bow before the elf lord.

  Mockery was what Nilanis sensed, and he wondered if the man had been waiting all this while just to greet him in such a grotty manner. He stiffened and entered, picking up his robes ever so slightly to avoid the pile of clothes strewn near the door.

  He dropped his robes as he reached the center of the room and turned to face the man he had called upon, subconsciously wiping the front of his silks where they had brushed the frame of the entryway. He waited for the grimy, old door to close behind them before he dared to speak. Had this place ever been cleaned?

  The human turned and sauntered to the edge of his tangled sheets where a woman lay in deep sleep, her naked back exposed.

  Nilanis pursed his lips, attempting to avert his eyes from the scandal. He was not sure exactly what he had expected, but somehow, even in expecting nothing new, the human had disillusioned him. He was still an unkempt low-breed with as much charisma as a dwarf and far less muscle, even after all the coin he had been given. “Prostitution is not allowed in Elvorium…”

  The human laughed once—cold and dismissive. “Neither is murder, but I believe we are past all that, are we not?” He leaned over the side of the bed and picked up his shirt, pulling it over his slightly perspiring chest.

  The room was hot and muggy, like a windless summer day. Nilanis ached to remove his robe, but he dared not let his face be shown in the event that the woman awoke. Instead, he bore the humidity with futile attempts to circulate air with his hand.

  “Why did you call me back, elf lord? Is my student not fulfilling what I promised?”

  Nilanis scoffed as the full reminder of his fury returned t
o him. He dropped his hand in swift frustration. “Your student has made a mess of things. He has left the council confused, but equally as skeptical. His rampage has continued ceaselessly since you left. I told you that a few occasional murders after you were gone would be satisfactory, but instead there are a dozen elves dead within this city and no end in sight. I want your student dismissed. Send him back to that shithole you call Ryekarayn.”

  The man’s smile faded slightly, his jowl quivering once. “Now, now, Nilanis. There is no need for such venomous attacks. I will send my student home.” He lifted a small, empty bottle from the nightstand and examined it absentmindedly. His long, claw-like fingers curled around the vial and a faint grin eased back the scars that slithered up across his dark-tanned cheeks. “But surely that is not all you have for me. Another council member for me to dispose of, I hope?”

  Nilanis glanced toward the drawn curtains of the room and almost requested that the window be let open. He found his clothes beneath the robe now clinging to his lean frame. He refocused on the man. “No. Something else this time. I have received news from a recent ship from—well that’s really none of your concern—that the True Bloods have sent someone to Elvorium. I do not know who or why, but no matter his purpose: I want him dead. But first I need to know what the True Bloods are scheming. I need you to find out who he… or she… is and what that person is doing here. Once you acquire that knowledge, report the information back to me first, and if I have what I require, then I shall need you to kill him.”

  The assassin grinned again, his right hand twitching slightly as he set the bottle of Ulasum’s Tooth back down with a soft clink. His toned muscles rippled with the rush of adrenaline at Nilanis’ voiced commands and the scars on his face seemed to pop in the candlelight. “Absolutely, my lord,” he replied as his lips peeled back to form a broadened sneer. “Consider it done.”