The raven's ebony plumes ruffled, then settled smoothly into place, each feather shimmering as I took the items it had delivered. A heavy silence descended upon us, the air thick with the weight of the mission I had just relayed, to breach the sanctity of the Church's newly consecrated temple while the High Priest was visiting the mansion.
Belmont's piercing gaze settled on Henry as he paced the length of the grand chamber. Each stride he took was measured, echoing the rhythm of my racing mind as I formulated a strategy. Jansen and Eliot, their features painted with anticipation, turned to Belmont, seeking direction on what to do next.
Ras's voice pierced the silence, its gravelly undertone resonating in the vast room. "Five days is barely a blink," he voiced, capturing the dread gnawing at all of them.
Leaning back in his high-backed wooden chair, Jansen remarked, "The forest's edge alone is half a day's journey." His eyes followed Henry's relentless pacing, searching for clues in his restless movement.
"With the right incantations, I could weave a traveling circle," Aldric proposed, his voice frayed with exhaustion but firm in resolve.
Eliot's retort was immediate, his youthful impatience evident. "Your magic, potent as it is, demands a toll. And you, old man, have drawn deeply from your reserves." A brief flash of anger ignited in the old mage's eyes, the raw power of his magic palpable.
Belmont intervened, trying to soothe the tension. "A traveling circle would indeed require a lot of magic."
Henry stopped abruptly, his gaze fixing on Aldric. "We'd only employ it for our exit," he stated decisively.
"You've devised a plan already?" Belmont asked, impressed.
"We will set forth at dawn on the day of the visit, hiding in wait for the temple's procession to pass," Henry explained.
Jansen interjected a hint of doubt in his voice. "The expanse leading to Elysarra Forest is an open moor. How do you propose we remain unseen?"
"Aldric will cast a cloaking spell on you," I declared, "similar to the one he cast upon the raven."
Eliot, ever meticulous, pointed out, "And what of our steeds? Cloaking them will require a lot more magic."
My strategic mind was already steps ahead. "The route to the forest will take you towards Verdantvale. A prominent hillock en route will shield you as you disembark. Ras will safeguard the mounts while the rest of you proceed on foot into the forest."
My intense gaze shifted between Jansen and Eliot, seeking assurance. "Jansen, Eliot, can you recall the path to the temple?" The two exchanged a fleeting glance before nodding confidently. "Excellent; our success hinges on your swift navigation. Once we penetrate the temple's inner sanctum, we'll split up to retrieve the artifacts."
I turned to Aldric again, eyebrows raised slightly in query. "Aldric, once inside, can you ensure their safe passage out of the Church?"
A smirk played on Aldric's lips, a mix of pride and aged wisdom. "There exists no fortress or realm that my magic cannot infiltrate or escape from."
Eliot, his youth often steering his tongue before his mind could grasp the reins, muttered more to himself than to the group, "Yet the source of the energy pulse eludes you." The whisper was barely audible, but it might as well have been a shout for Aldric's sharpened ears.
Faster than the blink of an eye, Aldric's face contorted, his eyes narrowing into slits—a radiant surge of violet energy shot forth from his outstretched palm, engulfing Eliot. The sheer force propelled the young knight backward, causing him to crash heavily onto the cold, unyielding stone floor.
The wind knocked out of him, and Eliot managed to croak, "I had that coming."
A tense stillness hung in the air, with none of us daring to aid Eliot to his feet. We were all acutely aware of Aldric's volatile temperament, having witnessed or been on the receiving end of his wrath. Intervening might be perceived as choosing a side, a mistake that could elicit Aldric's notorious ire.
Sensing the escalating tension, Ras intervened with calculated flattery, "An astute strategy, sir Henry." He paused for effect before adding, "Your leadership as captain of the Ducal Knights is unmatched."
I nodded in gratitude to Ras for defusing the situation. "We must all find rest tonight. Tomorrow, our preparations begin in earnest."
As we emerged into the pub area, I noted that many tables were still crowded with patrons. Many continued their raucous conversations, nursing their drinks, while a few were slumped over their tables, succumbing to the lull of inebriation. The familiar culprit from the night before held court at his table, his voice rising above the din as he embellished his tales.
"He's here again," I observed with a hint of disdain.
Following my gaze, Ras commented, "Ah, Tom. He's a daily fixture here. He stays until the last call every time."
"And then these brutes, they pinned me against the wall! They thought they could intimidate me! Had they not caught me off guard, I would have easily punched their teeth in! But I did get the wench." Tom's embellished account reached my ears, causing my fists to clench involuntarily.
"What does Tom do around here?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at the man, who remained blissfully unaware of the scrutiny he was under.
Ras shrugged. "Unclear. Word has it he's never held a job for long."
"Then how's he affording all that mead?"
Ras smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "This is a pub in Dampshaw; it's best not to ask. We aren't picky about their origin as long as the coins find their way to our till."
I nodded, acknowledging the sentiment. This corner of Aeloria had been chosen precisely for its ambiguous morals. While not utterly lawless, few here would report misdeeds, maintaining a shroud of plausible deniability over their associations.
"Pay him no mind, brother. He's just a drunkard looking for trouble," Belmont advised as he and the others headed up the stairs toward their rooms. I lingered in the corridor. Something about Tom gave me reason for pause, and I had to understand why.
Tom's voice persisted over the clamor of the pub, his story weaving in fantastical elements that never happened. Yet, in his inebriated state, he swore by every word.
"Oh, give it a rest, mate. We were all witnesses. Without the intervention of that Red Devil, those Xoltecans would've flattened you," declared a man to Tom's right. With sunken cheeks and eyes dulled from excessive mead, the man slumped forward onto the worn table, snoring almost immediately.
Tom sneered in response, "I could've handled it without that meddling noble."
I thought back to Belmont's interference and chuckled at the nickname that he had chosen to give him. Belmont and I had been referred to as many things throughout our lives, but 'Red Devil' was the newest and most unoriginal. I smirked, thinking about the face Belmont would make if I called him by it.
"Damned aristocrats, always meddling in other's business!"
I was drawn back to the pub as the rage, combined with a considerable intake of mead, fueled Tom to violently slam his mug onto the table, leaving a noticeable crack in the timeworn wood.
"Enough, Tom! Out with you!" Rhion, the bartender, a stout woman with arms that had separated one too many tavern brawls, shouted across the room.
"Was on my way," Tom snarled, pushing through the entrance into the night's embrace.
I should have headed up to my room, but my curiosity got the better of me. My instinct told me that I had to follow Tom, so instead of heading up to bed, I followed him out the door.
Emerging into the balmy darkness, I quickly scanned my surroundings. Tom was a few feet ahead of me, swaying slightly, clearly disoriented as the shadows played tricks on his blurred vision. Opting left, he proceeded, casting wary glances as he walked. Every little sound he heard only seemed to amplify his drunken paranoia. I hid in the shadows, moving gracefully and soundlessly behind him.
I had followed him for not too long when I heard footsteps that seemed also to be following him. Tom froze momentarily, and I knew he had heard the footsteps too. But rather than glance back and confirm his fears, Tom quickened his strides. The footsteps grew more urgent, and soon Tom was running. He ducked into a shadowy alleyway where he ridiculously tried to hide within a narrow, darkened nook, but even from my hiding spot across the street, I could see half his body clearly sticking out in the moonlight.
Several minutes ticked by as I watched Tom remain frozen in place. He had closed his eyes, probably fearing that even the slightest shimmer from them might betray his location.
What a fool!
The sound of steps had disappeared completely, and he emerged from behind his hiding spot, releasing a sigh of pent-up tension. As he walked forward in the dark alleyway, I saw his body waver as though he had collided with a wall.
As he stumbled back and regained his balance, a hulking figure with bulging muscles and a sneer that could curdle milk stepped into the light.
"Fancy seeing you here, Francis," I heard Tom say, his voice quivering despite his best efforts to sound casual.
Francis' only reply was a grunt as he maintained his unsettling gaze on Tom.
"Trying to elude us, were you, Tom?" A sneering, nasally voice questioned from the shadows behind Francis.
It's that bastard!
Startled, Tom visibly shook. "Count Houndly?" he gasped as Count Houndly revealed himself, stepping out of the shadows.
My hands clenched tightly into fists, and my jaw tightened as I saw the smirk on Houndly's face.
All in due time. I reminded myself.
The Count was an imposing figure, not for his height but for his girth. As he stood before Tom, he wore a velvet suit that was clearly too small for him. The remnants of his thinning hair were tied into a low ponytail held by an ornate ribbon. The Count toyed with those straggly strands, circling Tom like a vulture eyeing a carcass.
"Here to personally inspect how your task is progressing," Count Houndly announced, digging into his coat pocket. He produced a sleek cigar and, with the swift strike of a match, momentarily bathed his pockmarked face and deep-set wrinkles in an amber hue.
Tom's brow glistened with fresh beads of sweat, and he stammered, "I... um, just need a few more days."
"You guaranteed it would be done today. That's why we hired you," Houndly retorted, letting out a plume of smoke directly into Tom's face. The acrid scent was so strong that it carried all the way to where I was hiding. I knew that Tom's eyes must have stung from the smoke.
"Instead, you squandered your advance on booze?" Houndly questioned as he pressed the glowing tip of his cigar onto Tom's hand. Tom's scream pierced the stillness of the alley as he pulled his hand away and cradled it.
"I wasn't just drinking! I trailed them into the pub. Would've had them, but Lord Aster intervened," Tom managed to say with a pained voice.
The mere mention of our family name seemed to have made Houndly freeze. The cigar's amber glow revealed a storm of emotions on his face. Deep furrows lined his forehead, and his eyes showed an unmistakable gleam of malice. "Why wasn't I informed that he was in Aeloria?" he snapped at Francis.
Francis was caught off guard, gaping at a loss for words.
The knights guarding the entrance must not be in Houndly's pocket. That was heartening to know.
"You're clueless!" Houndly's agitation was palpable. He ran a hand over his shiny bald head and started pacing the cobbled ground of the alley. Abruptly, he whirled around to seize Tom by the collar. "Did you say anything to him?"
"No, I swear! He doesn't know you're after the woman—" His words were smothered as Houndly's palm clamped over Tom's mouth, eyes darting around as if expecting eavesdroppers.
"Loose lips can be our downfall," Houndly hissed, releasing Tom only to shove him against the cold, damp wall of the alley. The count took a moment to smooth out his velvet coat. "Finish your task swiftly, or I'll find someone competent."
"Wait," Tom's voice quivered, but he pushed on. Both Houndly and Francis turned slowly. "I need an advance on the rest of the payment."
"An advance?" Houndly sneered.
Tom squirmed uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Count Houndly's piercing gaze. "For the task to be completed, I require more funds. I exhausted the first payment today and had Lord Aster not intervened; success would have surely been mine."
Count Houndly's laugh was cold and mocking. With a casual flick of his wrist, he motioned to Francis. "Hand over some coins to our friend. And perhaps give him a little something extra, given my current charitable mood."
From within the depths of his coat, Francis produced a leather pouch. The faint chime of coins echoed in the night as he handed it over to Tom's eager, trembling hands.
"This feels the same as the initial payment. I thought you said I would receive extra?" Tom started to say, only to be silenced by Francis's sharp, brutal punch to his gut. Tom doubled over before crumbling to the floor. Francis gripped his hair, yanking his head to face the looming Count Houndly.
"Another failure, and you will pay with your life," the Count hissed. With a dismissive shove, Francis released Tom, his body dropping onto the grimy cobblestone of the alley.
Realizing I would get no more information from Tom, I quietly followed Houndly as he strode with an air of authority through the streets of Dampshaw, savoring his cigar. Late-night stragglers who chanced upon him scurried away, seeking refuge in shadowed nooks or nearby establishments. None wished to catch the eye of the cruel man.
Though Aeloria was a city nestled in my land's lands, it was an open secret that the Count pulled all the strings. My grandfather had entrusted the city's reins to the previous Count, and the mantle had seamlessly passed to Houndly as the only heir to the title. Soon after he had gained his position, whispers of his unchecked power circulated.
Many appealed to me about Houndly's transgressions, yet solid evidence always seemed to evaporate before they could bring their case up to the courts. And because of this, rumor had spread that Belmont and I were indifferent to their plight. This perception emboldened Houndly, making him ever more audacious in his pursuits.
However, the Count wasn't wholly unrestrained. He exercised caution whenever Belmont, I, and even the knights were in the city. His vast network always alerted him to such visits, allowing him ample time to rearrange his schemes. However, as he walked, there was an unease in his posture. I was sure that Belmont's unexpected presence unsettled him. As much as I wanted to see him rot in a cell, I had other matters to tend to. I would have to assign a few knights to watch over the Xoltecas in town, especially if Houndly had set his sights on one of them.