Bizarre memories of running around the dungeons as a young child came flooding back to Ethelston as he walked into the dark and dingy atmosphere. He had always had a morbid curiosity about the dungeon and was often sneaking in there at a young age watching in awe the various punishments that were being inflicted on the Ravenscourt criminal underbelly.
Now walking through it, the immediate barrage his nostrils received from the smell of death was something he hadn't quite prepared himself for. He was no stranger to that smell, but it was so rancid and ripe that it seemed unnatural.
As rats scurried across the floor searching for their next meal, Ethelston knew this was another task in his ever-increasing list for things to deal with as the Duke of Ravenscourt.
His uncle had been busy here, far too busy. How far had he fallen into depravity?
The state of the dungeon was not the conversation for today, the conversation was about his ties to the Black Knife Syndicate, the most immediate threat to the security and stability of Ravenscourt. Perhaps if Millendahl didn't give Ethelston the answers he wanted, then Ethelston would have him moved here, to the lower parts of the dungeon.
It was the only way to get to the tower in which Millendahl was being held captive. Even though there was so much animosity between them, Ethelston felt compelled to treat him with the respect his position in society dictated. As a result of this, Millendahl had been moved to the top of the tower of the claw which was luxurious compared to the rest of the dungeon.
Walking up the winding staircase, the clapping of Ethelston's shoes on stone echoed throughout breaking his concentration on the number of questions that were running through his mind.
He had rehearsed this moment several times in his head, but knowing that the moment he saw his uncle, the emotion would take over and the questions would be quickly forgotten. He just needed to make sure that his rage was subdued.
Two guards stood outside the door to Millendahl's cell, immediately seeing Ethelston they stood to attention.
"Foulk isn't it?" Ethelston asked. He had been practising the guard's names and faces at every given opportunity.
Despite not being able to clearly see his face behind his helmet, the soldier named Foulk smiled. "Aye it is milord, and this is Garalty"
"Garalty, I've not had the pleasure of meeting you before, well met. How fares the prisoner." Ethelston asked.
"He's being well-fed as you've ordered milord. He has not been allowed to exit the room, despite his protests. He is still in good health." Foulk reported.
"Good, please let me inside and do not enter until I call," Ethelston responded with a tinge of harshness. He couldn't deny that he was extremely agitated by the expected encounter.
The door creaked open revealing a rather spacious but simple room at top of the tower. With only a table, bed and chair for furnishings, Ethelston did not envy the dwellings that had been set up for his uncle. With a plate of fruit, parchment and pen on the table, it was still far better than what most prisoners could ask for.
Millendahl stood upright at the small slit of a window, watching the ongoing's of the city. He didn't move as the door swung open as Ethelston entered. When the soldiers slammed it shut again, he still remained transfixed on the city below.
"I was wondering when you would eventually come and visit me," Millendahl commented spitefully. His deep voice was filled with resentment and disenchantment refusing to turn his gaze towards his nephew.
In Ethelston's mind, he could envisage himself launching across the room and smashing his uncle's head repeatedly against the wall, but he knew he had to remain calm. There was more at stake than his desire for revenge.
At the moment.
"Your relationship with the Black Knife Syndicate, how did it work?" Ethelston asked directly.
"Ahh, so that's why you bless me with your presence. Trouble with the locals?" Millendahl eventually looked around, an arrogant smile fixed between a scraggly greying beard and tainted moustache.
Ethelston thought back to the last time he was this angry, and the poor soul that received the brunt of it. For years he had always managed to temper his anger, self-discipline which made him into one of those renowned mercenaries in the realms of men. On rare occasions, that self-discipline was lost, and the results ended up quite messy.
He must not lose control, by any means necessary. Until after he got what he needed.
"Black Knife Syndicate, explain."
Millendahl walked away from the window, his thin frame crept along the wall, taking an apple from the table. He looked squarely at Ethelston as he took a large bite, juice squirting down his beard.
Just bordering on rage, Ethelston forced his way towards his arrogant uncle, taking the chair and launching it across the room. Watching the chair in shock, Millendahl dropped the apple just as Ethelston has his hands around his throat and lifted him high off the ground.
His grip was horrendously tight, and he could not grasp a breath. Clawing away at Ethelston's hands, he attempted all he could to get even one small breath, but to no avail. As his lungs started to burn, his vision dimmed, his last vision was the pure rage and anger on Ethelston's reddened face.
Eventually, Ethelston released him, allowing him to drop on the floor.
Coughing and spluttering, Millendahl struggled to allow the air to return to his lungs, massaging his neck that had been held like a clamp. He took some long deep breaths, few seemed to allow his lungs to work easily, but eventually his wheezing relaxed, and his breathing return.
"How... How could you, " he coughed "how could you do that to your own uncle?" Millendahl eventually managed to comment.
Ethelston walked frantically up and down the room daring not to look at the helpless man on the floor.
"We are family!" Millendahl continued to goad.
Ethelston stopped dead in his tracks. His face scrunched up like an angry lion as he looked directly at Millendahl. "How do you treat your family uncle?"
Millendahl looked to the floor, holding his throat.
"I may have only been a child, but I remember the day well when you sent your men and your hounds to kill me after you sent them to kill my father." Ethelston pointed towards his cowering uncle.
"The Emperor promised me Ravenscourt as long as I assisted in removing the Aex-Igh's. Your father was stupid in his loyalty towards them, and as his heir, I had to remove you, it was nothing personal." Millendahl explained, using the wall to leverage himself back on his feet.
"Nothing personal? Nothing personal? Explain that to my mother who was ripped apart by the dogs in order to allow me to live. I wonder how you would like the sound of a loved one being torn apart, the screams that still fill my nightmares. I supposed having never loved anyone but yourself, you would never experience that suffering." Ethelston yelled a tear glided down his cheek.
Millendahl stood silent.
An unnerving smile gradually appeared on Ethelston's face as he looked directly at his uncle. "You failed though. You failed to kill me, you failed to kill your brother, and most importantly, you failed to kill the one he was protecting."
A confused look descended on Millendahl as he continued to nurse his neck.
"The woman, who stood with me in the hall as we arrested you," Ethelston commented.
Millendahl looked to the ground, remembering back to the day. The moment they came in, the guards, the short elf to his side, the red hair.
The red hair!
"The child survived?" Millendahl responded with despair.
Ethelston nodded, his anger turned to a discomforting smile, "The last Aex-Igh. My father saved her and she has returned to take her place on the throne."
"What have you done? The land will be in chaos."
Ethelston slammed his fist on the table "It already is in chaos. You and the Emperor made sure of it! She will unite this land and restore the prosperity that filled this land when the Aex-Igh's ruled before."
"Prosperity? Hah!" Millendahl scoffed, "I am richer now than I would have ever been under their charge."
"And the people suffered." Ethelston rebuked him, folding his arms in protest.
Shaking his head, Millendahl snarled "The people? That's why you'll forever be weak."
Ethelston strolled around the room once more. Thoughts on how to execute his uncle raced through his mind. Quick deaths, slow deaths, painful deaths, deaths with a statement, his bloodlust was getting the better of him, he needed to return to the task at hand.
"For you, it won't matter. You'll be long dead before she ascends the throne. The question now is how and when. I've summoned the nobles here to confirm their allegiance and deal with there misgivings. I'm sure that some of them will wish you as dead as I do, some more so. You tell me what I want to know and I shall make sure my comments will be in favour of a quick painless death."
Millendahl looked towards Ethelston. He had not seen his nephew in approximately eighteen winters, but he could see elements of Edric in him. He would be true to his word, provided the information he gave was relevant.
He took in a large sigh of acceptance, his fate would be determined at this moment. "There are three parts of the Black Knife Syndicate, the blade, the quillion, the pommel. Nobody know's who leads them apart from the other two leaders. The blade is their strong arm, the ones dealing with death and destruction that you have likely encountered. The pommel steers the direction of the organisation, while the quillion deals with communication and some of the more unsavoury parts of the organisation. Assassination, blackmail among others."
He took another apple from the table and took a bite into it. He swallowed gingerly as his neck still burned from Ethelston's hands.
"At least one of them is a noble, or well educated, surely you must know them?" Ethelston asked referring to the written message to him around the dead soldier's neck.
"I never dealt with them directly, I only spoke through an intermediary. They would relay messages through him, and vice versa." Millendahl explained.
"This intermediary, how can I get hold of him?" Ethelston asked.
"Easy, it's Kirken Merrithorpe."
"Kirken?" exclaimed Ethelston. The very man who had been a member of his household for as long as he could remember, the very man who stood by his father side until he was betrayed, the very man who stood by Millendahl, the very man who he had sent to Lionmane with Loldirr and Erdudvyl.
How could he have been so stupid and not seen it?
"Guards!" Ethelston called out.
As Millendahl looked on, he gingerly took another bite of his apple as the two soldiers almost instantly opened the door.
"Find Jarendrud immediately, instruct him to do a thorough search into Kirken Merrithorpe with absolute haste," Ethelston ordered prompting Foulk to salute and run down the winding stairs.
"You believe Kirken is a member of the Black Knife Syndicate? I don't believe him capable of such." Millendahl scoffed.
Ethelston was now angry at himself with trusting this man so fully, and to leave both Loldirr and Erdudvyl in his care, he had been reckless and stupid to not to see earlier. "Kirken isn't a member of the Black Knife Syndicate. He was one of the few to know where my father and I were the days you went for power. He would have been in a perfect position to see the rise of the Black Knife Syndicate and he was in a perfect position to communicate between you and them."
He took a deep breath before storming towards the door "He's not a member of the Black Knife Syndicate, no, he's Quillion, he's one of their damned leaders!"