Chapter 171: Out of Containment (Patreon)

The Margrave leaned back in his chair at the dining table, staring at his now-empty platter of food. He tapped one foot on the ground, glancing towards the door. Argrave had still yet to return.

Reinhardt’s old friend, Duke Enrico, had been entirely right from the beginning. Having a motive other than mere rebellion would be good for the rebellion, upsetting though it might be. The Margrave did not wish to play the kingmaker. He merely wished to do what was right.

But part of doing what was right was accepting the tragic realities of the world—few people, least of all the nobles beneath the heel of Vasquer, acted with righteous intentions. For all intents and purposes, Argrave doused their flames of ambition. He would be Reinhardt’s claimant, and with an undisputed figure, the opportunists’ influence would be mitigated after the war ended.

From all that he’d talked about with Argrave, he’d come to know the man better. He was far closer in character to someone like Enrico than Reinhardt himself. The Duke of Mateth had transformed his seat into a bastion of wealth. Reinhardt was a man of war. He would win the conflict, but in the wake of a devastating war, the realm did not someone like himself on the throne—the realm needed someone to rebuild it.

Of course, as a bastard, Argrave’s education might be lacking… but character and will were paramount, by Reinhardt’s estimation. Provided the relationship lasted, his choice of partner might prove problematic for realm stability… but then again, Enrico had told Reinhardt that Argrave had some sort of close relationship with the tribe of snow elves, and the woman herself seemed quite keen.

Each issue had its counterpoint. With the situation as miserable as it was, it was a wonder anyone like Argrave existed. Above all, no better alternative existed.

Margrave Reinhardt found comfort in the fact that the founder of House Vasquer, the leader of the legion of ten thousand snakes, had been known as deceptive, even dishonorable. But the first Vasquer cared about the people, and he built the longest-lasting human kingdom in the known world. Margrave Reinhardt would be happy to replicate even half of that.

Reinhardt heard steel clanging up the hallway and refocused back on the doorway. One of his knights entered, breathing a little heavily.

“My lord… there’s trouble,” he said quickly. “Your wyvern. It’s…”

The Margrave leaned forward, placing one hand on the table. “What?”

“In the skies,” the knight finished.

Reinhardt’s eyes danced for a few seconds, stunned. When he gathered himself, the Margrave stood quickly enough to cast his chair to the ground. He wiped his hands with a cloth, and then stepped around the table.

“Stay here with Rose,” the Margrave directed, already half-running.

The Margrave wound through the complex keep of stone that was the Lionsun Castle. The dining hall was near the center of the massive fortress, and so it took a great deal of time to reach the outside. Eventually, the Margrave ran to a balcony overlooked the Lionsun Wall, glancing about the skies. Just as his knight had said, his wyvern was flying about the sky, controlled by a masterful rider. Reinhardt watched for half a second, teeth clenched tightly.

“The tribal,” he finally realized, sprinting away from the balcony.

The Margrave ran through his keep until he eventually set foot on the great Lionsun Wall. His men were not undisciplined, and a great many of them had gathered. Though many were mages, they were hesitant to attack the Margrave’s personal property.

Reinhardt spotted one of his commanders and strutted to him. “How did this happen?”

“The men were eating, sir,” the commander explained deferentially.

“How did the tribal get to where he was? I assigned guards to them at all times,” Reinhardt demanded.

“He entered the privy… and then he was there,” the commander shook his head, watching the sky. “Some people think he climbed out of the window, along the mountainside.”

The Margrave glanced around at everyone. “Keep watch for Argrave and the others. Give them no opportunity. This is the only place they can be reasonably picked up—ensure it is watched,” he directed.

Just as the Margrave gave that order, the wyvern changed its course in the sky. It headed for the apartments in the central keep. Reinhardt stepped away and entered there, sprinting through the stone hallways while looking out of balconies to follow its movements.

Eventually, he burst into Rose’s room, which was empty… save Argrave and his companions. The wyvern landed and dug its claws into the wall, holding its neck inside the room.

“What in the gods’ name are you doing?!” the Margrave shouted. Behind, Margrave heard some knights pursuing him, ready to aid.

Galamon already stood opposite the Margrave, protecting them as they loaded their things atop the wyvern. Argrave helped Anneliese up and cast glances back to the Margrave.

“I told you I had to go! Told you it was urgent!” he shouted out.

“And this is your solution?!” Reinhardt stepped closer.

“I’ll get your lizard friend back to you by tomorrow! Probably,” Argrave shouted again.

Margrave Reinhardt stepped closer, but suddenly, mist in the room coalesced into lifelike elven warriors. Reinhardt darted backwards, surprised. It gave Argrave enough time to climb aback the wyvern himself, and then Galamon followed shortly after. Argrave’s four foxlike pets scampered across the room, then jumped up just after him.

Just like that, the wyvern pushed off, beating its great wings to gain altitude. The Margrave stepped to the balcony and whistled, but his beast ignored his command—it never had before, so the Margrave stared, shocked by the whole situation.

The Margrave stood there, staring, for a long while. Eventually, a voice broke his thoughts.

“…Margrave,” the voice came, finally breaking his focus. “Are you alright?”

“The third time..!” he began, fist clenched, but collected himself. “I’m fine,” he waved his hand, cradling his forehead.

“…we found this in Argrave’s room, sir. I don’t feel comfortable holding it. Too rich for my blood.”

The Margrave turned his head, where he received a letter alongside five rose gold magic coins.

The letter was hastily written, and read, Payment for horse, wall, and travel fare. Wyvern back by tomorrow.

#####

Stain gazed at Elias, scanning him up and down. “Looks good,” he raised a thumb.

Elias wore his elaborate white and gold outfit intended for banquets and other such frivolities of high society. The thing was splendid, undamaged by travel or wear. Elias pulled at the collar.

“You don’t think this might achieve the opposite effect?” he questioned, nearly moving to undo things.

“Come on. Think. If you’re willing to walk among them wearing something so splendid, you establish yourself as someone of importance willing and able to lower yourself to their level, uncaring of your own personal possessions.” Stain spread his arms out. “People have valuable stuff, they like to keep it clean. You’re above that… or so it seems. It’s like putting a diamond in mud.”

Elias adjusted his cuffs. “The gap between nobility and commoner is not so far re—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stain dismissed. “I’ll do my part. Helmuth will keep an eye on things, make sure you don’t end up hung, drawn, and quartered. Just… go,” Stain shooed him.

Elias gave a nod, then turned. He exited out of the castle of the Duke of Elbraille, crossing the courtyard. Already, many of his personal escort had filled the courtyard, and the time was nearing dusk—all of the others in the castle would be eating dinner at this time, and Elias figured it would be the perfect time to do things.

With quick strides, he made his way to the ladder inside one of the wall’s towers. He climbed up it quickly, and then looked down into the city of Elbraille. The people were still outside, camping even now. Largely unarmed and unarmored, it was not a force capable of taking this castle. Even still, Duke Marauch refused to even consider the idea of wholesale slaughter, and intimidation tactics had proven ineffective.

The grim realization he intended to endear himself to this belligerent crowd made his task seem all the more daunting, but even still, he stepped to the parapets just above the castle’s gate.

“People of Elbraille!” he shouted, drawing attention at once. “I am Elias of House Parbon!”

His words spurred the idle crowd into action. Several of the people stepped away from whatever they were doing, stepping past others to come and shout.

“I understand that you are angry! What has occurred is a disgrace!” he shouted, leaning out over the edge. “The administration of House Elbraille needs to be brought to justice. And I assure you, I will bring you justice!”

Reminded of their purpose for being here, the people shouted obscenities and demanded he open the gate.

Elias took a deep breath, then shouted as loud as he could, “But people! Though I promise justice, we must not lose track of what is important! Forget the snake, forget the lion—your brothers and sisters are dying, succumbing to this plague!”

Though the crowd’s rancor did not die out entirely, they paid closer attention to what Elias said.

“I will not tell you to return home. On the contrary! I will open the gates! I ask that you set aside your grievances, so that your parents, your children, and all of your kin may survive this fell plague! I swear on the name of House Parbon, I will help you through these trying times!”

A mixed crescendo of cries rose towards Elias. The name of House Parbon had weight. He stepped away from the castle parapets, giving the signal to his men manning the gate—more were occupied restraining the Duke’s men. He was sure the Duke would allow this. The Duchess would never, though, and she had an iron grip on her husband’s actions. He needed to do this covertly.

Elias came to stand before the great iron gate of the Duke’s castle. Helmuth gave a nod as he passed, and Elias strode ahead of his white-armored retinue. As he had instructed, they’d set aside all of their weapons. Just outside, the crowd gripped the iron bars of the gate, still pulling and pushing it even now.

The iron bars started to rise upwards. The people that had been clinging to the gate released it, almost confused. At once, Elias advanced.

“Let us fight the common enemy. We must combat this plague,” he said, neither loudly nor quietly. The tension had dissolved enough for him to do so. “On the name of House Parbon, I will ensure all of your troubles are addressed.”

“And what of justice?” a priest insisted, pushing past the crowd. He wore largely ruined golden robes. “The men of Duke Marauch seized a Priest of Gael, executed him in front of thousands! A prominent merchant complaining of corruption met the same fate!”

“I will bring you justice,” Elias shouted over the crowd’s rising shouts. “But what justice can be found when the plague rots us from the inside? There is an order to justice.”

Though it could not be called assent, the angry crowd had calmed to the point where a tense quietude took over. With that, Elias set about commanding his men to restore order. Some vague semblance of organization began to take place as the people infected with plague were isolated from the others. Elias himself helped shepherd the people, being very careful not to stoke their anger.

As Elias helped a man whose legs had been badly infected by the plague walk, he heard Helmuth shout out, “Young lord Elias!”

Elias turned. Helmuth’s hand pointed ahead urgently. He quickly placed the pieces and turned to where Helmuth pointed. A large, badly hunched man approached, wrapped in a heavy burlap cloak. Elias pivoted away, and this seemingly deformed man at once lunged forth with inhuman speed. Helmuth conjured a ward in front of Elias, but it shattered once it met with the man’s weapon.

Something hurled towards the air at Elias, and he raised his hand to block it. Something cold and wet covered his hand and spilled onto his face. He had no time for disgust, because his assailant still approached. He saw a gleaming metal whiteness approach and remembered his father’s training well. He caught the man’s wrist and kicked his shin. The dagger only barely cut his hand, right where the bulk of the liquid had landed.

The man fell, and his heavy burlap robe fell off of him. He was badly stricken with the plague, his skin waxy and distorted. The man’s wrist twisted as he fell, and the dagger clattered to the ground. Elias recognized it very well. It was his father’s, once. The Margrave had lost it fighting Prince Induen at Diraccha.

“Young lord…” Helmuth paused. “The blood…”

The man Elias had subdued started to laugh. His skin was so badly morphed his eyes were practically sealed shut, and they seemed to gleam with malice. “A parting gift for the young lord.”

Elias looked at his hand finally, realizing what had been thrown at him. It was blackened blood.