The Ghost's Crusade

Chapter III: Drystan

After the tragedy their cousins the Jadri assumed rulership of Baedorn in a coupe that lasted a single bloody night, set off by the gruesome quartering of the Genevi senechal and his wife, a witch that the mob mentality had blamed for the plague itself. There was no evidence whatsoever that either the seneschal or his wife had done any wrong, but the city was in anarchy and no one could stop the mob or the Jadris that incited them. Some managed to become profitable or well-loved successes, others ran the city into the ground within a few years of becoming Ovan and were assassinated by rival family members who rose to fill the empty seat within a fortnight. It seemed to be a hallmark of all the city-states in Oribian: the quick and often bloody turnover of unpopular or otherwise unremarkable rulers.

The keep itself was chilly even at noontime. Everything was carved out of the same granite stone and it was as gray as the morning fog outside. The floor was simply a large slab of it covered with several long scarlet rugs extending from the door, up the stairway, and straight to the smaller doors of the Ovan's rooms. There were the obligatory suits of stuffed armor and chairs for others to rest upon, but there were no people in the commons waiting for an audience with the Ovan. Anywhere else there would have been well over a dozen well-wishers, complainers, and favor-seekers hovering about wanting to speak directly with the Ovan and no one else.

Today the commons was absolutely dead; it didn't look like anyone had been there in several days in fact. There was a thin layer of dust upon every chair in the area and the only tread marks he could discern in the carpeting were of the seneshal's wooden-soled shoes with their odd square heels as well as the far heavier prints of a man in armor who tended towards dragging his left toe, overturning the threads of the carpet so that the lesser-worn reverse side became visible

I do not like this, came the ever-present voice in the back of his mind. But still, I sense nothing of Pandemonium within the city. 'Tis likely, as you say, espiri mages making merry with the laws of nature.

Drystan hid his frown at Arathron's disappointed assessment. The unease that came with walking into a trap one knew was already there started to fester at the back of his mind. Then again, meeting with politicians was always one kind of trap or another. He wondered what Akkali was hearing as she sneaked about in the shadows of the city's taverns. He had always preferred to get his information from people who actually lived on the ground rather than those who kept themselves above society in castles and towers. It was those people who actually had to deal with the repercussions of what he did first-hand, every day of their lives.

Most often he found that dealing with nobility and aristocracy of the Oribian nations to be a complete waste of his time. Unless his business served to fatten their coffers or bail them out of their own foolish blunders they were a generally ungrateful self-interested pack of cannibalistic wolves that turned upon one another at the faintest sign of weakness. There were a few that were worth their positions, but judging by what he had thus far seen the Ovan of Baedorn was not going to be joining that short list.

Luke pushed open the left half of the double iron-bound doors and ushered Drystan inside. Beyond was a smaller square room with a door in each wall. A skylight overhead let in enough daylight to see by, but great black cast iron candle stands were set up on either side of each door to brighten up the place after sunset. Unlike the scarlet carpets and tapestries in the main hall everything in this room was brown and blue, the same colors he had seen on the wall guards.

The seneshal shut the door behind himself and then pointed to the door to the left of where they stood. “If you please.”

Drystan nodded and pulled on the iron circle that hung on the door at chest height. As soon as it opened enough to see inside the shouting match that was taking place within spilled out into the foyer and began to echo off the stone walls.