4.34 In Which the Dark Lord Hurts Some Feelings (Patreon)

Suddenly, Archlord Caludon rose from his chair and crossed the distance before us in two long, decisive strides, bringing himself to stand precariously on the very lip of the stage upon which we sat.  The shift in his demeanor was as absolute as it was abrupt.  Everything changed; his posture, body language, facial expression.  It was like an entirely different person had slipped into his skin, a charismatic and outgoing man who bore no resemblance to the elf who’d been lounging indolently at his dinner seconds before.

This was the most impressive display of showtime I’d seen from the outside, and I found it…disquieting.  Was this what it was like for my own followers, watching me?

Instinctively I scanned the gallery, quickly finding the rest of our expedition party clustered together in the corner farthest from the stage.  Dhinell was visibly seething, Harker had managed to get his hands on one of those pepper mutton skewers and was stoically chewing, while Aster leaned against the wall with her arms folded, expressionless.

“Lords of Dount!” Caludon boomed, throwing wide his arms.  “Welcome!  At long last, our patience is rewarded, as our most intriguing guest has returned from his mission into the deep forest.  Truly, we all owe a debt to Lord Seiji for enlivening what would otherwise be the dull season of death.  What fascinating games and pursuits he has introduced to us!”

The assembled highborn below applauded politely, which seemed almost eerie.  Given the weird stuff Fflyr did in place of normal Earth actions—like their absurd heirats instead of bowing—it felt odd that they would slap their hands together like regular folks.  I wouldn’t have been shocked if they snapped their fingers or belched in sync or something.

“Indeed, I know how you have all been enjoying the trend sparked so recently by our mysterious visitor!  The lowborn of our fair isle have never looked finer, and for that alone we must be grateful.  Anything that makes them a tad less repulsive to the senses, eh?”

Polite laughter—and in some cases, not so polite.  Caludon shifted position just enough to smirk at me sidelong over his shoulder.  I munched a toast point, letting my eyes roam the room in apparent boredom.

“But I know this is not the only thing upon everyone’s minds.  Thank you kindly, my noble brethren, for your most generous patience as I have awaited the safe return of our adventuring guest about whose welfare I have been so concerned.  I have kept you in suspense regarding the matter which I know has weighed most heavily upon your minds, that I might render this important announcement to all whom it may concern at once!”

Yep, here it came.  The generally bad feeling I had about this intensified by the second.

“I do hope the overseers I have dispatched to your homes have not proven an undue burden.  Mindful as I am of the obligation by the highborn of Dlemathlys to accommodate an Archlord’s decrees, I endeavor at all times not to abuse your trust.”

Despite the tension in the air, I did rather enjoy the expressions of a bunch of aristocrats who had just been lied to and insulted right to their faces and didn’t dare look unhappy about it in front of their unstable overlord.

“By now, my accountants and enforcers should be well into the task of tallying up all resources recently bestowed upon us by the kingdom, as well as our generous neighbors in the Empire, thanks to your generous accommodation.  Truly, we are blessed to have such gracious friends among the faithful of our great Goddess.  Inconvenient as it is—for you as much as myself, I am sure—this task is unfortunately necessary.  I’m sure it must shock you as much as it did myself to learn that these gifts may have been distributed…inappropriately.”

Pause for effect, while the audience looked increasingly confused and uncomfortable and I deliberately did not.

“I am sure,” Caludon intoned in a voice so solemn it was mocking, “you share my distress at this news.  Obviously, we cannot be seen in the eyes of our benefactors to be unworthy stewards of their largesse.  But fear not, my friends!  As your Archlord, I have applied myself without fail to the task of determining proper distribution of resources.  In the days ahead, once the full accounting has been done, the Kingsguard shall begin the process of redistribution.  My steward tells me it should be no more than another week before the final tallying is done, the resources already spent weighed against those remaining.  Until that time, of course, any further use of these assets must cease.  Everything must be strictly proper and aboveboard, as I am sure you all understand.  But be not dismayed, lords of Dount!  This delay shall give you the perfect opportunity to begin preparing for the correct distribution!  And that task, lest you wonder, will be ongoing for the remainder of the winter, or until such time as these kind gifts have been fully expended toward their purpose of relieving the suffering of their people.”

He shifted again, this time not looking in my direction but making sure I had a good enough angle to observe his vulpine smile.

“To ensure the most ethical and efficacious distribution, relief supplies shall be dispatched to those worthiest to receive them, in the amount most justified by the performance of each Clan.  Ah, but you see the great question!  How best to determine this?  For many hours did I wrack my brain, grappling with this most crucial of dilemmas, before my darling wife, the Highlady Nazfryn, came to me with a great spark of her own imagination, and the solution to our problem!”

There were a few scattered, desultory attempts at polite applause; many of the highborn now looked some mix of frustrated and seasick.  I had the distinct impression that the combination of the words “Nazfryn” and “imagination” was deeply alarming to the citizens of Dount.  No surprise; I refused to validate the woman by glancing in her direction, but I could feel her hungry eyes on me.

“My love has reminded me to also credit our new friend Lord Seiji for providing the inspiration for her own brilliant idea!  My humblest thanks to this most esteemed of guests.  Truly, what fun we have all had this past week!  Why, of all the matters over which we might compete, it must be the well-being of our subjects which best serves this fair domain we call home.  We have become better shepherds of our flock, while also expressing our own style and panache—it is the best of all possible pursuits.  It is my hope, friends, that this endures to become a tradition practiced every winter here on Dount—and perhaps, if the Goddess smiles upon our endeavor, throughout Dlemathlys!  Indeed, as it is through the lowborn that we now display our mastery and pride, it shall be through them that we demonstrate our fitness as custodians of these gracious gifts.”

The sinking feeling in my gut bottomed out when it met the rising tide of anger coming the other way, and as always with me, anger won.  I hung doggedly onto my outward composure, fury beginning to pound behind my temples even though I didn’t yet know what to be furious about.  I knew it was coming, and I knew it would be a doozy.

Caludon clapped his hands, beaming in delight at the increasingly sour-faced highborn assembled before him as he laid out his demented master plan.

“This winter, we shall hold an ongoing contest! Each Clan shall compete, and with the closure of every round, the supplies granted us shall be redistributed and an allotment of them permitted for use—explicitly for the betterment of the lowborn, as surely would be preferred by the Goddess, the King, and our very kind benefactors in Lancor.  Yes, indeed, it is for the lowborn that all this is done, and so it shall be by them that it is done!  Clan Aelthwyn shall sponsor events pertaining to each economically useful task characteristically performed on Dount—every kind of craft and manufacturing, handling of livestock, tending to khora, indeed every possible activity which can at all be performed in the winter.  Worry not, my lords, for I am hard at work drawing up a suitably fair calendar of competitions.  Every Clan’s specialty shall be represented, every Clan given an opportunity to shine.”

Ridiculous.  An absolutely bonkers waste of resources, not to mention an administrative and logistical nightmare.  That couldn’t be the worst of it; he was reveling in his villainy far too hard to be up to no more than this clownishness.  The other shoe was about to drop…

“Every event,” Caludon continued, a silken undertone beginning to permeate his enunciation that truly emphasized the cruelty beneath his jovial mask, “will be judged by representatives of Clan Aelthwyn, and undertaken by two lowborn representing the Clan to which they owe fealty, to be selected by that Clan’s Highlord.  And most important of all!  As the reward for each such victory is the opportunity to extravagantly feed and dress the peasantry, so as to parade them in front of one’s peers as prized livestock, the actual competition will have additional measures in place.  All to ensure it is…honest, and fair.  Above-board.”

He paused, letting the anticipation hang.  I breathed slowly and evenly, munching on a canape I couldn’t even taste through the coppery tang of murderous rage.

“Every competition will be held outdoors, feature one male and female lowborn.  In the nude.”

Yep.  There it was.

Caludon grinned down at his subordinate highborn while they hissed and muttered among themselves, practically daring anyone to challenge him.

Not a one of them did, the abominable chickenshits.

Never mind the dehumanizing humiliation of this proposed idiocy—though of course, that was surely the biggest draw for him. I had just spent a week out there in a Dountol winter.  None of these competitors would be lucky enough to get off with just losing limbs to frostbite.  Outdoors, in the winter, long enough to fully perform agricultural tasks?  They would die, almost without exception.  Most before they had any opportunity to finish their assigned jobs.

“Naturally,” the Archlord continued in a grandiose tone as if he were bestowing some great kindness upon his audience, “I realize that not everyone has the same taste in fun.  So of course, I would not presume to make such a festive event mandatory for any Clan!  No, no, you may of course feel free not to participate.  In that event, the Kingsguard shall simply retrieve all relief supplies allotted to the declining Clan, to be distributed fairly among those who perform well in the competitions.  Of course, this may present a small hiccup as some of those perishable resources have already been consumed or otherwise expended, but you need not worry, my friends.  By the time events are scheduled to begin, I will have a thorough accounting of everything that has been distributed and everything that has been used.  It will of course not burden such well-administered and successful Clans as your own to fund the success of your rivals from your own coffers.”

You evil shit.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Fuck it, I can put a stop to this now.  All of it.  Right now!  He was one fragile little man—

And I’d immediately be in a fight with every Clansguard represented here—and also Rhydion, who I was not at all certain I could actually take.

Worth it, that would be worth it to wipe this stain of a man from existence.  With a thought I could—

Kick off a war I was not prepared to fight, let alone win.

That was then, this was now!  Let them come!  I could call down lightning on every motherfucker who dared cross me.

The Kingsguard, the King’s Guild, the assembled Clansguards…those weren’t mindless zombies.  Simple soldiers might not stand up to the spells I had now, but I’d be fighting Blessed, in large numbers.  They’d overcome me.  If the local Guild adventurers didn’t, the mainland King’s Guild almost certainly could, and the forces of Lancor would without question.

They could learn fear before they died.  He would be Immolated a dozen times before I ended his misery, and that was still kinder than he deserved.  I’d take them on.  So what if they killed me?  That was my fate the second Virya had brought me to this shithole planet.  I would go down punishing Emphera for being the worthless heap of vile stupidity it was.

And the people I’d taken under my protection?  Promised to lift up?

I only promised them vengeance.  I was careful not to promise them victory.

That was a lie.  I had grown beyond that.  I told the goblins we would find a better way.

Wouldn’t it be worth it?!  To put a stop to THIS monstrosity?!

They would all die.  My people.  The women from Cat Alley, the beast tribes, Naz’s brave girls.  Countless goblin civilians.  The Gutter Rats…my kids.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I regarded the back of Caludon’s head impassively, belatedly remembering to chew.

“And of course,” he declaimed, oblivious to how close he was to an excruciating death, “I must remember to give thanks to our honored guest, Lord Seiji!  Without his inspiration, I would never have been able to think of these delightful diversions.  Please, my friends, think of all the fun we are going to have over the coming months, and show our favorite outlander Lord your appreciation!”

He turned back to me, smiling broadly, and began to applaud.  Behind him, on command, his noble lackeys did likewise.  In contrast to Caludon’s beaming smile, they either glared icy daggers or just stared flatly, their own displeasure successfully redirected to me.

I put on a small, lopsided smile, and lifted my glass toward the Archlord in a silent little toast.

Maybe not here, maybe not now.  It’ll come at a time and place I decide, little man.  For every additional day you live, you will give me another scream before you die.

I could feel a literal spike of pain in my temple, the rage had driven my blood pressure so high.  Figured my Wisdom perk only protected me from shit like grief and fear; I could’ve really used a moment of icy detachment right then.

He sauntered back to his chair, flopped down into it hard enough to make it scoot backward, and smirked at me.

“That, good sir,” I said, astonished at how calm I sounded, “was distinctly other than cash money of you.”

Caludon and Nazfryn both looked momentarily confused, sharing a glance, before they recovered.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about such petty details as the financials,” he drawled, waving a hand airily.  “I have people to arrange such trivialities.  No, Lord Seiji, let us look forward to the fun we shall have!  I have the strangest feeling you and I are going to derive more enjoyment from the games I have planned than anyone.”

He had obviously set this up with care.  He was prepared to deal with a sorcerer, with a bandit boss, with the Healer, maybe even with the Dark Lord.  But he was not prepared for Omura fucking Seiji.  Just because I can’t torture someone doesn’t mean I can’t torture them.

“Y’know…”  Idly, I swirled my wineglass, then took a small sip, pausing to inhale through my nose and really savor the bouquet before swallowing.  “I think you two have to be the most boring people I’ve ever met.”

Caludon and Nazfryn had been smirking at me like living avatars of smugness.  At that, their faces instantly went blank—no, not blank, trying to be blank enough to conceal sudden fury.  I couldn’t have achieved a better effect by dumping a bucket of ice water on them.

Beyond them, peripherally, I saw Lhadron’s wife smile viciously into her own wine before she could master her own expression.

I simply kept on, showtime alone preserving me.  Even the strength of rage howling through my soul like a hurricane only lifted me higher on a cloud of performance, emotion fueling my presentation—in this case, a presentation of idle, lazy disinterest.

“Oooh, look at us!  We’re eeeeevil because we’re rich and bored.”  I finally looked over at them, directly, my expression channeling every iota of condescension I had ever felt in my life toward the combined tourists and otaku of Akihabara at its worst.  The faint, smug, indulgent smile of a man too unimpressed even to be disappointed.  “How does anybody over the age of fourteen make an edgy literary trope their entire personality?  Actually, wait, that’s the wrong question.  If you’re gonna do that, how do you manage to pick the most tired, worn-out cliché of them all?  I thought you Fflyr liked books.”

They stared, outwardly expressionless.  Nazfryn had gone white as the snow outside; Caludon was gripping the arm of his chair as if hanging from it.  Despite his bombastic performance, somebody clearly wasn’t as good at showtime as me.

I actually laughed—a small, indulgent chuckle, such as one might give a child who had just boasted about performing an extremely mediocre trick.

“So, apparently you set all this up to antagonize me?  Okay, we’ll leave aside the question of how that’s the best use of your time you could manage to think of.  Your master plan was…what?  To make it personal by involving a bunch of randos I don’t know or care about?”

My smirk was a masterpiece of amused disdain, if I do say so myself.

“Really, now.  All your education and resources, and that’s what you came up with?  Well, in a way, this is sort of inspiring.  It’s really touching how the two of you found each other.  Between the pair of you, you’ve got almost half a normal person’s allotment of imagination.  It just goes to show, there’s hope for everyone!  We should never give up on true love.”

I drained the last of my wine, and then set the glass down on my little table with exacting care, a deliberate contrast to the way Caludon had tossed one earlier.  With a sigh, I stood up and stretched.

“Welp!  Thank you for the invitation.  My earnest compliments to the chef, and especially the sommelier.  Highlord Lhadron, your hospitality is exquisite as always.  It’s a shame about the company.”

“Isn’t it just,” he agreed pleasantly.

“And now if you’ll all pardon me, I have just been hiking in the forest for a week and was on my way to a much-needed wash before some petulant toddler demanded my attention.  Cheerio; I’m sure I’ll be seeing you all again soon.”

I sauntered past the group, down the stairs, and just to show off how I didn’t give a shit, chose the central aisle between tables to make my way directly toward the double doors at the opposite end of the banquet hall.  They stood open, currently flanked by a pair of armored Clansguard who held their spears crossed over the passage.  Wait…not Clansguard, those dudes wore Radiant Convocation colors.  Huh.  Well, I’d Immolate that bridge when I came to it.

The assembled highborn whispered and glared at me as I passed, which I ignored with all the effortless savoir faire of a man who could kill everyone in the room by thinking about it.  Halfway across, Aster joined me, having glided over from her position in the lowborn gallery.  Falling into step in her usual position just behind and to my left, she matched her stride with my own.  We headed right toward those Convocation guards without slowing.

“Delavada Aster.”

At that, however, she froze.  So did I, a step later, turning to look back at both my lieutenant and the speaker.

Highlady Nazfryn had taken the position her husband had occupied moments ago, perched on the very lip of the stage, staring down at us with a wide and wild-eyed grin that said she was tired of the polite pretense not to be a few cuckoos short of a clock.

“I think,” Nazfryn said in an echoing voice which managed to be sultry and sinister despite being skillfully projected from the diaphragm, “this is the perfect opportunity to open the coming festivities.  You will give us a demonstration, Miss Delavada.  Show off your mastery with that artifact weapon—yes, perform a sequence of strikes for our guests.  And do be sure to make it impressive.”

Aster had not turned around, was staring woodenly ahead.  Her right hand twitched, as if part of  her wanted to reach for her sword, but not the part making the decisions.

“And of course,” Nazfryn continued viciously, “you will demonstrate properly.  In the nude.  Strip, girl.  Now.”

Aster’s face had drained of all expression.  She was better at it than the Aelthwyns, the legacy of a lifetime of having to control herself around her arbitrary betters.

“Well?” Nazfryn snapped, her smile vanishing.  “You were given an order, lowborn.  You will obey it.  Make me wait, and it’ll mean a lashing.”

I don’t know what it was inside my head that snapped, but I’m pretty sure it was something physical.  I could feel the resonance, hear it echoing in my eardrums.  It was strangely harmonious.  F minor, I believe.

“Fuck it.”

At my nearly inaudible whisper, Aster’s golden eyes shifted to regard me sidelong.

“We’re gonna kill them all eventually,” I breathed.  “If they wanna start it now?  We’ll start it now.”

Wrong call.  I knew when I made it that that was the wrong call. After all the inner production I’d just made of controlling myself and not kicking off the war by ending Caludon the way he desperately needed to be, it was pure stupidity to do it now, over this.  Was I really going to throw everything away and start blasting just because they went after Aster?

Actually, when I considered it in those terms…  Yes, that was exactly what was going to happen.

Aster shifted her right foot in a semicircular slide across the floor, then half-pivoted on it, bracing herself in a fighting stand as she turned to look back at the smirking Highlady, even though she didn’t reach for her weapon.

“Bitch, come over here and make me.”

The room exploded into exclamations ranging from mutters to shouts, none of them happy.  Aster immediately turned back around, and thus was spared the sight of Nazfryn’s face instantly transforming to such utter, visceral delight I thought she might start groping herself right there on stage.  I had a bad feeling that reaction portended much worse than if she’d just been enraged.

We took two steps forward, toward the still-unmoving guards, before Naelloch’s voice rang out.

“Weapons aside, men.  Let them pass.”

“Archbishop,” Caludon bit out, “are you not the guardian of the Goddess’s sacred order?  That lowborn just dared defy an order from—”

“You never have bothered to read Liau’s Interlocutions,” Naelloch interrupted in a tone that was both powerfully projected above the outcry and beatifically calm, “no matter how often I recommend it.  The first rule of leadership: never issue an order which will not be obeyed and cannot be enforced.  By all means, Archlord, send your own men to be publicly tossed about the room by that sorcerer, if you have so little regard for your own authority.”

The two guards had already raised their spears to a neutrally vertical position and were staring straight ahead, as expressionless as Aster had just been.  Of course; they were lowborn, they knew the score.  Expressing any opinion at all about any of this could be suicidal.

We made it another step before the Archbishops continued in a more solemn tone.

“Have a care, though, Miss Delavada.  No patron can protect you from the very Goddess except in the extremely short term.  The time for repentance is short, and beyond it there is only retribution.”

Her eye twitched, and I knew she was experiencing the same snapping sensation I just had.  Aster halted, turned, and pointed at the Archbishop, her own voice ringing through the hall.

“Your religion is made up.  Sanora does not care about the rules that keep you in power.  You’re not better than them because you’ve got nicer manners.”

Oh, the uproar at that was delicious.  Scandalized and outraged highborn were yelling, fainting, and brandishing fists on all sides.  You loved to see it.  Ignoring them, Aster resumed course for the doors, me sauntering alongside her.

“See here!” blustered a blond man, drawing a rapier as he stepped forward into my path.  “If you will not control that lowborn, I demand—”

“Sit your ass down or I’ll kill your entire family,” I said, giving him a benign smile.

Dude clearly didn’t know what to think of that.  We didn’t even slow, and he shuffled awkwardly out of our way, still blinking and making fish motions with his mouth.

The pair of us strode out past the guards and into the carpeted corridor leading to the manor’s front doors.

“Think I may’ve overdone it a tad,” Aster muttered.

“Yep.”

“Worth it, though.”

“Damn straight.”

She inhaled deeply and let the breath out.  It shuddered slightly on the air.

“Well,” I mused quietly, “looks like we just made a shitload more work for ourselves.”

“Aye.  Best get to it.”