4.33 In Which the Dark Lord Keeps Up with the Aelthwyns (Patreon)

“Lhadron, you are remiss,” Caludon stated, arching an eyebrow.  “Here stands our guest of honor, deprived of introduction in violation of all rules of civilized hospitality.”

“Ah, then you are quite done monopolizing his attention?” Lhadron countered evenly, raising himself a notch in my estimation.  I wouldn’t blame a guy for playing it safe with a viper like Caludon in his house, but the Highlord had a spine.  Then again, maybe the truth of the situation lay in all the nuances I didn’t know; rather than looking piqued, they both smiled at him, the expressions evidently quite sincere and not one bit more pleasant for it.  “Welcome again, Lord Seiji, to the demesne of Clan Ardyllen.  I see the good Archlord and his Highlady have taken it upon themselves to usurp my prerogative as host and provide their own introductions.  Allowances must be made for…eccentricity.  And of course, you recall my lady wife.”

“But of course.”  I gave her an insincere smile, which she reciprocated.  Damn it, I was hoping he’d repeat her name.  What was the wretched woman called?  Oh, well, it probably didn’t matter.

“I am also informed that you are acquainted with our esteemed guest from the Empire, Lord Ruell.”

“No less charmed than previously, ol’ boy,” Ruell said with his usual sunny smile.

“Cheerio, pip pip.”  The elf blinked in confusion, as did everyone else present.  Screw ‘em, I enjoy my jokes.

“And alone in possessing the dignity and bearing to be presented properly before heating up the air, it is my honor to host, and to present to you, Archbishop Sabider Naelloch, our most revered conduit to the Goddess here upon Dount.”

“One servant of Sanora, no more esteemed than any other,” lied the elf wearing the robe which was not only richly embroidered with thread-of-gold but actually stitched with actual plates of what looked like solid gold wrought into impractically fanciful shapes and polished to an excruciating shine.  He inclined his head graciously to me but did not perform any heirat.  “It is a distinct pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Seiji.  You truly do stir the current of rumor with each little step.  My thanks especially for your service to the mission of our own Rhydion.  The Goddess favors those who aid her most stalwart servants.”

I turned to him and bowed.  “What an absolute honor to be in your most holy presence, Archbishop.”

The elf didn’t exactly look uncomfortable, but there was a fleeting pause before he answered.  “We customarily do not…bow, my lord.  Particularly on formal occasions.”

“Indeed, I’ve had worlds of fun getting acquainted with Fflyr customs.  The first thing I decided was to follow them…selectively.”

Caludon chuckled; by his and Nazfryn’s expressions, they were enjoying my little production a lot more than the Archbishop was.  “Lhadron brought his Grace here in the hope that he would counteract my own worst excesses.”

“Is it working?”

The Archlord grinned at me, saying nothing.  Nazfryn licked her lips.  Look, I’m a guitarist, I know what it’s like to be stared at by horny women.  She reminded me more of a monitor lizard eyeballing a steak.

“The Archlord has far too high an opinion of my abilities, if he thinks I could summon an Archbishop at will.”

“I assure you I don’t,” Caludon disagreed casually.

Lhadron kept his expression composed, but his wife was staring fixedly into the distance.

“A humble priest can only go where the Goddess’s grace is most needed,” Naelloch interjected smoothly, “at least as best as fallible mortal perceptions can determine Her will.”

“Anyway, you needn’t bother introducing Rhydion around,” Caludon added, lazily flapping one hand in Lhadron’s direction.  “Everyone knows him, and he already knows everything.  Don’t you, Rhydion?”

“It is hardly necessary to know everything,” the paladin replied from behind me, where he had silently arrived during the preceding conversation, “when one knows enough.”

“Ooh, the subtext,” Nazfryn purred, leaning toward me again.  “Such a shame, our Rhydion.  Once in a while he shows off how he has the capacity to be the most interesting man in the room, were he not so utterly dedicated to being so unbearably tedious.”

“Maybe I should try that,” I suggested.  “I bet it’s great for avoiding dinner parties.”

“Please be seated, Lord Seiji,” Lhadron said, gesturing smoothly toward one of the empty chairs.  “The place of honor has been reserved for you, next to the Archlord himself.  Rhydion, I realize you do not customarily eat while in armor in front of others, but I hope you will grace us with your presence nonetheless.  A place has been kept for you, as well.”

Fflyr high dining customs were…interesting.  Rather than a large table, each chair had its own small one at the right hand, laden with a variety of small dishes, tapas-style.  Actually the result was more table space per person than a more conventional arrangement.  The chairs on the high dais were arranged in a concave arc, such that all of us could see each other clearly, the better to converse—and, lacking a table between us, admire one another’s outfits.  That was probably one of the motives for this custom, given how these people liked to peacock.  What was most interesting to me was that the lesser highborn were arranged at more conventional tables on the banquet floor below.

I seated myself as directed, whereupon a servant darted forward to pour me a glass of wine.  Ignoring that for the moment, I instead picked up a skewer of meat and peppers, taking an experimental nibble.

…okay, I felt disloyal for thinking it, but this was way better than Gannit’s cooking.  Thankfully after all this time I’d become mostly accustomed to the way Fflyr spiced their food.  I hadn’t exactly learned to enjoy the burning in my sinuses, but I had at least gained the ability to eat it without embarrassing myself.

“Tell me, Lord Seiji,” Caludon drawled in the too-casual tone of a man who was about to twist a knife, “what is it about our lowborn that so fascinates you?”

“Nothing about anyone fascinates me,” I answered instantly.  Without particularly noticing it I had instinctively immersed myself in the fluid energy of showtime,because I was going to need it to get through this without igniting a civil war.  “People are only disappointing if you expect anything from them.”

He chuckled.  “Ah, once again, you show yourself a man after my own heart.  But that only intrigues me further, you see.  Wherefore the interest you take in them, if it is not personal?”

I was already chewing the meat and peppers I had strategically shoved in my mouth, and continued to do so, merely giving him a shrug in response.

“It’s quite the fashion you ignited, just before you left,” Nazfryn said in a particularly saccharine tone, lounging against her own serving table in a posture that fell just short of the inappropriate languidness of her husband’s probably because it was calculated to show off the lines of her body.  “Scarcely a week later, and already it is the thing to compete by dressing up one’s peasants!  Just imagine!  Lowborn, primped and fed and gussied up like show ponies.  Well, it is the dreary season, I suppose.  Even so, what a novel idea you introduced!”

I cleared my throat with a sip of wine—excellent wine, I had to admit—and made a show of blinking once, slowly.  “Is that what the highborn have been doing?  Huh.  I guess I understand you people even less than the lowborn.”

On the one hand, it was a rather amazing success; that off-the-cuff gambit seemed to have worked even better than I thought.  On the other…the fact that these two were showing an interest in the results could not possibly portend anything good.

“I’ll tell you this about highborn,” Caludon drawled.  “Manipulating them into pursuing some nonsense or other is not particularly impressive—we are not an incisive or discerning breed.  It can be extremely amusing, however, as you discovered.”

“You flirt with heresy, Archlord,” Naelloch said gently.  “The blood of elves—”

“Why, of course, Archbishop, we are in public.  I would never offend your sensibilities by properly fondling heresy right here at the table.”  Caludon gave me a sly look as if we were sharing a joke at the priest’s expense; I was busy sampling some kind of roasted, honey-glazed nuts and tried to look as uninteresting as I was uninterested.  “So, Lord Seiji, you find yourself…disinterested?  How intriguing that nonetheless you surround yourself with the lowborn.  After all, you have scarcely put in an appearance among respectable company since your arrival here.  Some commerce in the merchants’ quarter, the odd visit to the King’s Guild, and of course your legendary appearance at good old Lhadron’s barn.  A fellow might begin to suspect you preferred the low to the high.  Hmm?”

Don’t kill anyone, Seiji.  Actions have consequences.  He hadn’t done anything kill-worthy yet (at least not during this dinner), but I reminded myself anyway; I could see it coming with every slithering word.

“Lhadron is quite skilled with horses,” I commented, holding up a morsel to examine it as I spoke.  It was a wedge of what seemed to be toasted wyddh with some kind of spread or thick sauce piled on top.  “You have to respect a man who’s good with animals.  Oh, and Rhydion over there is very adept at swinging a sword.”  I paused to carefully sniff the appetizer.  Spicy, of course.  “Ah, forgive me, I forgot to add context.  I mostly occupy myself with material pursuits; that was my complete inventory of highborn who are in some way useful.  No offense intended, Archbishop.”

I bit into it.  Yep, spicy.  But also creamy, and the crunchy flatbread toast beneath was an appealing contrast to the texture.  Interestingly, it seemed so far that highborn liked their food with less heat than what I’d been mostly eating so far.

“It does not pay to become personally agitated over every little thing,” Naelloch replied with a benign smile which I didn’t believe for an instant.  “As a general rule for life, and a particular one for dining with the Archlord.”

“Yes, of course I can see the utility of, for example, whores,” Caludon commented, watching me with a sly little smile.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.  I chewed slowly, watching him in turn with a deliberately disinterested expression.  Shit. Okay…  This wasn’t a complete surprise, the Healer thing was close to an open secret already.  Total security had never been realistically possible and I’d been less careful than I should, as others had pointed out.  There were people who I knew knew.  The question was, what did this fucker plan to do with that information?

“Orphans are a bit more of a stretch,” Caludon continued lazily, picking up a wedge of the same thing I was eating.  He examined it while speaking, turning the snack this way and that as if it might reveal its secrets if viewed from the bottom.  “Though I suppose, upon reflection, I can see some of the uses to which they might be put.  Particularly by a man of imagination.”

With a flick of his fingers, he tossed the toast wedge over his shoulder.  In my peripheral vision I saw the lady of the house narrow her eyes briefly enough that it was almost a twitch.

“Are we just…listing categories of people and what they can theoretically do?” I asked in my blandest tone.  “Well, hey, if that’s your idea of fun.”

“Do you know the secret to fun, Lord Seiji?” he asked with a serpentine smile.

“I’ve got a terrible premonition that I’m about to.”

“Preparation.” Caludon leaned over toward me, winking.  “One must be willing to endure a great deal of tedious setup, to make that moment of magnificent release all the sweeter.”

“Oh, I get it, it’s an entendre,” I said with a sigh.  “Good one, very nice.  Though describing the ‘setup’ as tedious makes me feel sorry for your wife.”

Nazfryn burst into delighted laughter.  “Oh, you are too sweet!  But I assure you, my lord, you needn’t be.”

Holding eye contact with me, she deliberately licked her lips.  Fucking hell, woman, people were eating here.

“Caludon does enjoy his little japes,” the Archbishop said, projecting serenity.  “We make allowances for—”

“You bore me.”  The shift was sudden and palpable.  Caludon was staring at Naelloch with a sudden complete lack of even a mask of joviality.  “This game was amusing for a long time, Sabider, but I have lost patience, and interest.”

“I am not here to entertain you, Archlord,” Naelloch replied, still outwardly calm and beatific as if he were leading a worship service.

“Are you not?  It may not be your intention, but I assure you that you have no other function here.”  Slowly, Caludon straightened up in his chair; he made me suddenly think of a cobra rising up in preparation to strike.  It did not help that Nazfryn was practically squirming in her own seat, watching this shift in mood avidly, and helped even less that she was watching meas much as her husband.  “Truly, it was fun for a while.  A good, respectable while.  But you see, it is the easiest way in the world of making the lot of you dance to my tune—a tune not even played by me.  Merely steps laid out in advance by our forebears.  They all hate me, you know, Lord Seiji.”

I sipped my wine, ignoring the sudden intensity of his stare.  “Ah, yes, truly the cardinal complaint of a mature adult.”

“Oh, I do not say they are wrong to,” he purred.  “Their only real crime is their own insignificance.  Around people interesting enough to matter, why, I would conduct myself with more restraint.  After all, that is what a civilized person does, is it not?  Sadly, I am constantly surrounded by people who refuse to matter.  These…highborn.”  He flicked his fingers disdainfully at the nobility gathered below, who fortunately were not close enough to hear him.  “The religious, as exemplified by the good Archbishop.  And oh, the lowborn, definitely. The servants of my own household in particular.  Ah, how they despise me, one and all.  Very much as you do, Lord Seiji.”

“You say that as if expecting to be praised for your cleverness in noticing.  The sun rises in the east, Archlord Caludon.”

“So it does,” he agreed, grinning broadly.  “And so, loathed and detested by one and all, you would think I would be swiftly dispensed with, yes?  Surely assassinated or something similarly decisive—or, at the bare minimum, removed from my seat of power.”

Caludon slouched back down in his chair, now glaring out across the space before him—over the heads of the other highborn, as if they themselves weren’t even deserving of his notice.  It was the first true crack in the facade I’d seen, the hate-filled expression of a man who truly detested the world and everything in it.  On his other side, his wife was watching him with the opposite aspect: biting her lip, flushed, eyes shining in rapturous adoration.  God she was creepy.  At least she wasn’t doing it at me for the moment.

“And yet,” Caludon whispered.

“And yet,” Nazfryn cooed, reaching over to lay a hand upon his arm.

“They smile at me,” he said, heaving a sigh that sounded, of all things, disappointed.  “Smile, and curry my favor.  Oh, how easily the powers I antagonize every day of my life could expunge me from this miserable world, yet all they can think to do is debase themselves for scraps of my regard.  And do you know why this is, Lord Seiji?”

“Ah, grand,” I sighed, fortifying myself with a sip of wine.  “We’ve come to the portion of the evening where he explains his evil plan.  All right, proceed.  Let’s try to make this quick.”

Both Aelthwyns gave me looks of pure fondness which made my skin crawl, not that I let that show.  I had long since figured out that any sign of weakness in front of these people would trigger an attack.  They really were just…predators.

“Tortured backstory first, evil plan later,” Caludon explained, leaning against the arm of his chair closest to me and smirking.  “All things in their proper moment; we are great lovers of literary tradition in this country.  It is their own power, Lord Seiji—what little there is of it.  The feeble fiction which props me up is the same creaking structure that supports everyone in this wretched country who has a scrap of influence, and in their desperation to cling to it, they dare not so much as carve their initials into the smallest of its supports.  All these who fancy themselves lords and ladies—why, what claim have they to it, save the whims of a Goddess who has never deigned to validate them?  Golden hair and crystal complexions, dark eyes and pointed ears, those are the absurd keys to power in this kingdom.”

“Be careful,” Archbishop Naelloch warned in a much less convivial tone than before.

“Be silent while my husband is speaking, you prematurely wizened coot,” Nazfryn snapped.  “Or at least conjure up something to say which is worth our time to hear.”

“So they refuse to touch me,” Caludon drawled, slumping still lower in his chair.  “After all, if the highest among them can face consequences for his actions…why, how much more easily will they suffer the same?  And that is the one thing the highborn can never tolerate, you see.  Just imagine what would happen to this country if those running it got anything they deserved.  And so, Lhadron here placidly tolerates me, bends his neck to avoid drawing my displeasure no matter how I insult him.”

Staring deliberately at the Highlord, Caludon held out his own wineglass.  A lowborn servant instantly ghosted forward and refilled it from an expensive looking bottle.  The Archlord lifted the glass to his nose, swirled it once while inhaling the scent with an appreciative smile, and then hurled the filled glass over his shoulder.

Lhadron, pointedly ignoring him, bit into a skewer of pepper mutton.  His wife’s jaw tightened, but she likewise refused to outwardly react.

Behind us, servants scrambled as silently as they could to clean up the sprayed wine and broken glass.

“Good old Sabider is even worse,” Caludon continued, shooting the Archbishop a contemptuous glance.  “He has all the same personal distaste for my conduct, but also a moral imperative to oppose me.  At least, were he remotely sincere in the convictions of the faith which appears to be his entire personality.  And yet!  The Goddess dictates that I am the best and most correct of all her creations, being an elf with a high inherited position.  Yes, I’m entirely sure it is faith in his Goddess’s commandments and not the practical awareness that being a well-bred elf is the entire source of his own high position that stays his hand from commanding my destruction.”

“All your antics delay the moment you face judgment, Caludon,” Naelloch said softly, “they do not spare you from it.  She is not my Goddess, but yours also, whether you like it or not.  Were I a creature of strict pragmatism as you claim to be, I should forbear from offending such an entity.”

“Good old Sabider,” Caludon sneered wearily.  “I can always count on him to prove my point with a prime serving of driveling piffle.”

“As a visitor to our lands, Lord Seiji,” the Archbishop said to me with his mask of calm beneficence back in place, “you may not realize that the Archlord exaggerates my power for the sake of his argument.  Where I capable of commanding his destruction…  Well, his continued existence serves to demonstrate that I am not.”

“He’s my favorite, you know,” Caludon added to me.  “Still too spineless to do anything, but at least he’s willing to say it.  None of the rest of them are.”

“Girls, please,” I drawled.  “You’re both pretty.”

“And the lowborn,” Caludon continued, curling his lip.  “Why, their numerical advantage alone. That the common people of any nation are cattle is proven by the fact they remain common.  A man with a will and a soul, surrounded by countless more of the same, united in position and purpose…  Why, what couldn’t they accomplish?  If, that is, they truly were men with will and souls.  And yet what do they do?  They suffer.”  His sneer deepened until it was nearly a snarl.  “Politely. What well-bred, well-behaved little sheep, truly.”

“Should I have questions about the source of this…mutton?” I inquired.

“You needn’t worry, my lord,” Lhadron said dryly.  “The Archlord has no role in the selection of my household goods.  Merely in their waste.”

“What about it, Rhydion?” Caludon asked, actually waving at the paladin.  “You must loathe my style of leadership more than anyone here—and unlike most of them, you have the power and perhaps even the authority to do something about it!  Why, if you were to strike me down here and now, surely even the Convocation and the King would support you!  If the great paladin himself decreed that the Archlord needed to die, everyone would accept that.  Right? So draw your blade and carry out the Goddess’s will!”

Nazfryn turned her eagerly expectant stare on Rhydion, as if she actually hoped he was going to murder her husband and possibly herself then and there.

“It truly reveals the poverty of your mind that you can conceive only summary execution as the appropriate way to redress your offenses, Archlord.”

Caludon sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, while his wife slouched in her seat, pouting in outright disappointment.  “You see, Lord Seiji?  Piffle.  They moralize and spout platitudes and do nothing. Whatever he may claim, Rhydion forestalls himself because of consequences.  His would undoubtedly be lesser than those of anyone else, but ah, how nervous it would make the power structure of this wretched little kingdom if he were to do what he so clearly wants.  His ability to move and act throughout Dlemathlys would be significantly curtailed in the aftermath.”

“It’s just such a shame,” Nazfryn cooed, batting her eyes at me, “to learn that such a celebrated warrior is, in the end, merely a coward.”

“You, though,” Caludon whispered.

I did not like the way they were both suddenly looking at me.  Even less than I’d liked it so far, which was really saying something.

“Oh, I know what you think of me, Lord Seiji,” the Archlord said in an unsettlingly breathy tone, holding my eyes with the sheer intensity of his own.  “What about it?  You are an outsider here—both in origin, and in the base of your power.  Let us speak as equals and ignore all these clowns who feel the need to dance around reality.  You oppose the entire structure itself—plan, overtly or not, to cut it down.  What better place to start than here? I have such hopes for you, Seiji.  Show me something…interesting.”

I finished chewing my current mouthful, swallowed, and carefully brushed crumbs from my lips with the provided napkin.

“You’re a weird li’l dude, aren’cha, Cal?”

The elf grinned broadly at me, an expression of happiness that seemed purely sincere if only because it was openly unhinged.

“Nearly as much as your good self, I should think, Seiji.  Just promise me that you will look after my Nazfryn.”  Casually, not even looking at her, he lifted his hand to rub her cheek with the backs of his fingers.  “I hereby bequeath her to you, in the event you should take my life.  I think you’ll find her quite pleasing—she really is a delightful pet, if kept properly disciplined.”

She was rubbing her face against his hand—and not in any kind of subtle way as might be appropriate for a public display, but avidly, like an affectionate cat.  A cat in heat.  All while keeping her dark eyes fixed on mine.  It was really fortunate for purposes of my PTSD that I couldn’t make myself see anything this woman did as erotic, no matter how blatant the intention.  She was just…disturbing.

“Consequences, Caludon,” I said, remaining relaxed aloof in demeanor only through the sheer power of showtime.  “I’m no Rhydion, certainly no Archbishop.  Being actively hunted as a criminal by the Convocation, the King’s Guild, every Clan and everyone else would be a headache of truly massive proportions.”

I leaned toward him, and he matched my posture, our heads tilting together conspiratorially.

Then I reached across and booped the Archlord’s nose.

“Little buddy, what the hell makes you think you’re worth it?”

Smiles drained away from their faces in unison.  I did not reveal satisfaction any more than I had unease.  I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had any effect on me at all.  Instead, I just straightened up in my chair and began browsing among the selection of finger foods at hand, which I noticed a servant had discreetly replaced while I was distracted.

“Why…that is the question of the hour, is it not?” Caludon murmured.  “After all, now that backstory is dispensed with, I believe you are owed a recitation of the evil plan.”

…maybe I shouldn’t have said that.