The Thief King

27 | Punishment for Power

Logan's mind raced. Thoughts, memories, questions keeping him from concentrating on what was being said. The Marshall was speaking, he knew his father listened like an owl, eyes roaming the room, unblinking, unwavering. But no matter how much he knew of his surroundings, Logan's mind still lured him—far more interesting than the morose discussions taking place at his father's council table. Cadavan Hobblebey was one of the main causes. His political strife and commentary had entertained Logan until night had succumbed to dawn's will, and he had found himself no longer needing the candles burning low at his table.

A yawn threatened to expose him. Logan covered it by pretending to rub at his face, as if the talk baffled him. When he looked up again, his father met his eyes, disappointment leaking through. It took more than that to fool the king. It took more to be a King.

Logan leaned into the back of his chair and forced his mind to concentrate. Advisor Orrik was prattling about previous circumstances and the repercussions for crimes of a similar nature. Another advisor, Advisor Pernius dismissed it all—unfit as he liked to put it—the punishment not meeting his level of gravitas and weight. The city had just experienced its first mass murder, decisions made at the table would effect history and stories. Grand. Historic. Legendary. Such weighty words thrown by such a dismal, stick of a man sputtering on about numbers.: Twenty-two dead, five under the age of sixteen and all with no apparent connection to each other. Four priests were amongst the dead, killed as if sacrificed to their gods, drained of blood and offered up on a stone slab with a single black coin on their forehead. Logan had read the reports four times and still, the magnitude and brutality sliced through his skin and twisted every nerve until he wanted to baulk.

"We could offer tax exemptions," Orrick suggested.

"Rewards attract opportunists hoping to hum a convincing tune." Marshall Fourdin shook his head. "It will only cost the crown much needed coin."

"Incentive must be given, Marshall."

"Yes, but we cannot appear to be desperate in front of the people. Asking for insight and information is the same as admitting we know nothing."

"But is that not the truth?" Logan asked. All eyes turned to him inviting a flush to colour his cheeks and ears. "What do we know besides for the Thief King being rather violent of late?"

"We know enough," King Warrick snapped. His large, calloused fingers grabbed his goblet and brought the gold ornament to the disapproving mouth. "It is obvious that we are dealing with thieves fighting over territory. First the Northside is hit and now the docks. There is a language being spoken here, we are just not aware of what it is saying."

"Knowing about the turf war is not going to catch those responsible," Logan shrugged. "We cannot hope to find answers if we do not seek them in the first place."

"I don't need answers," Warrick sneered. "Answers hold no power and power is what we need. The people need to know their King still protects them. They need to know punishment is dealt unto those that oppose my rule. That the power to demand blood for blood is still in my hands."

"Blood for blood can anger–"

"Let it anger whoever it needs to anger. I do not fear these miscreants that run around the sewers like rats. I do not bow to terror, son. Your books do not teach you how to earn respect and strike fear. Those lessons can only be granted when another man's life rests in your palms, and it is your choice to snuff it or grant it mercy that makes a man tremble with fear, or drop to his knees with gratitude."

Logan swallowed the rest of his words. There was little he could say to convince his father that perhaps violence was not the cleanest course of action. That answers held power just as knowledge did, and that power was different to force. He sat amongst warriors who knew nothing but the words of a blade, warriors that had fought together, bled together, cried, laughed, and celebrated together. War may have migrated south with the swallows of summer, hoped never to return by those left behind, but that did not mean it did not leave soldiers behind that pined for the purpose it gave them, or the appropriate circumstances for their rationality.

"There is truth in some of what your son suggests," Fourdin sighed. "Spoiling tonight's festivities would only anger those who look to gain the most from it. The crown earns a decent amount of coin from the celebrations and tampering with the excitement might disrupt the flow of income for vendors and crown alike."

"We cannot do nothing, Marshall," Pernius stammers. "Leave the matter too long and it may seem like the crown does not care for the people's safety."

"Worse yet," Advisor Gregory cut in, "that it does not have the means to punish those responsible."

"The crown will not sit back," Warrick growled. He sat up in his large, high-backed chair, the craftsmanship behind the throne made it appear as if wings sprouted behind the King and a crown of cloud and stars reigned over his head. It was a monstrosity and a relic from an age where kings chose to aggrandise their rule with trinkets and architectural, decorative splashes of metaphoric power. The room in which they now gathered was the worst of all. A fireplace, shaped like an agape dragon's mouth rested in one corner, the fire burning orange and yellow framed by sharp teeth reaching and falling like stalagmites and stalactites in a dark cave. Above their heads was a chandelier made of the most delicate crystal and shaped like a blooming lotus on four scaling tiers. The ceiling was a fresco of gods and deities amidst a very human battle and razing a path of glory and gold in their wake.

Logan had never seen war, but he doubted gold and glory followed every warrior. He doubted actual gods walked amongst the common man, but that did not mean the idea of gods were not created. One unbelievable act could engrave a name into a history book's pages, to be mentioned and repeated until a man becomes a legend, a legend becomes a myth, and finally, what once was a man, time and story has turned into a God.

"We have to catch the men responsible before a blood price can be repaid," Logan said stiffly.

Warrick took a long sip of his wine, his free hand's fingers drumming a tune against the wooden tabletop. "Guilt of one crime can assuage the public's justice of another, and I will not have my people wait to hear my answer."

"Please, Sire," Fourdin pressed. "Wait until tomorrow. Allow one night to pass where all seems right, and the truth is still but a rumour. It may just grant my men enough time to catch the thieves responsible."

"We know who is responsible, and how many years have your men been searching for him to no avail?"

"Then recall Legion if you think the Peacekeepers are not suitable to the task. I have said this at many a meeting, we are outnumbered and dwindling still. We need more force."

"And what message would that send to the people? The Legion have been recalled, King Warrick no longer has control over his city. What would it say to our allies?"

"Sire, something needs to be done."

"And I have made my wishes clear. Take whatever murderers are rotting away in the prison tower and set their heads on pikes for the city to see what happens to those that threaten the safety of the innocent and holy."

Logan had to press his lips together to prevent words tumbling out. In all the books and stories he had read and studied, vengeance was never a righteous path. It was an infinite cycle of blood and hatred. One action justified in response of the one the preceded it. His father was directing them upon a path that history proved would be caked in blood by the time either side admits fault.

"We can have a hanging tomorrow," an advisor said, his crooked nose seeming to curl even further from anticipation. "It will be good to empty out our stocks, which is actually a matter I wished to discuss. The numbers..."

Logan's mind lost focus. He had listened in on too many discussions about the tower and its occupants of thieves, pickpockets, assassins, murderers and cutthroats. Too many dangerous men sitting, waiting for an opportunity to be released from body or prison. Why his father kept them alive...Logan had suspicions. Slavery, being the lesser of the list of evils.