The Mother of Monsters

The private chambers of the Count of Basat, Bertrand Otel were a stoic image of the pride and efficiency that dictated proper Katali society. Furnished only with what was necessary, any decoration was intended to be displayed with acute pride. He had a simple desk, set centered in the room. The dark oak fixture was framed only with two simple lamps topped with spheres of frosted glass. Each sphere contained a mote of bright light that shifted and moved now and then.

Behind his desk were precisely three bookcases, each of them stocked only with books he had the time to have read before. On one side of the room was a map of the greater Katal-Balthin region; his territory. He had another spot set aside for the world map he would one day acquire, though finding a suitable cartographer and artist had continued to elude him. Other than that, and the fine Elf-made rug on the floor, his room was spartan to say the least, and he liked it that way.

The man himself was a reflection of his chambers; plainly dressed in a dark coat and trousers, a simple white shirt underneath a matching dark overcoat. His face was long and thin; a trait he had acquired from his mother and he took pride in it. From his hawkish nose to small, piercing eyes, he was well aware that his appearance was just one other weapon to use against his enemies if he was forced to. It was fortuitious, then, that he did not have many enemies out here in his County.

He adjusted the silver bindings on his wrist cuffs and frowned. That wasn’t entirely true, but his enemies were wise enough not to make themselves plainly known.

“Anya!” The count barked, “Mirror!”

The door swung open only two heartbeats later, a young woman looking barely old enough to be his daughter strode in with a large mirror held in her hands. He glanced at her pretty face, large angular eyes of a mysterious cobalt blue as well as the sharp point to her ears. She was an elf, of course, and had come into his service as a secretary to his office after her father had arranged for it as part of a larger business deal. His eyes flicked down to her dress. She was dressed simply though her outfit seemed to be intended to emphasize certain attributes.

He turned his gaze to the mirror and adjusted his ascot, drawing it down before straightening his suit.

“Your father pick that dress for you?” He asked, glancing up at her face.

“Why yes, my lord, he had insisted I wear it when serving as your secretary,” She replied demurely, an innocent lilt to her voice.

The count shook his head; “What is Viktor thinking? Hanging his daughter out like a piece of meat, is this what he wants?” the Count muttered.

The girl looked up at him in confusion but he raised a hand and shook his head to dismiss her thought; “Thank you Anya, that will be all, I-” He was cut off when another individual stepped into the space behind the young elf woman. This man was dressed in a suit not dissimilar to the Count’s own though far less refined. He was holding a long blue stone in his hand, clean crystalline facets covering the body to give it an almost artificial look.

The young man held the bluestone up; “Count Otel, a message from Justicar Wale.”

The Count’s eyebrows shot up and he quickly dismissed the girl and snatched the bluestone up from the young man’s hand. He waited until both of them had dispersed before shutting the door and returning to his desk. He raised it over the desk and spoke a command word in a low, firm voice before releasing it into the air. Instead of falling to his desk the crystal remained where it was, casting a dim light over the count as well as the surface of his desk. Before long, the image of a middle-aged knight clad in plate armor appeared standing atop the wood surface as if a small figurine of a man had been created to stand there. The figure raised a hand up to his heart and then two fingers to his greying temple. He bowed before straightening himself.

“Count Otel.”

“Justicar Wale, I honestly did not expect a report from you so soon.”

“We located the Azaress that you had informed me about. The one you claimed had killed a number of locals after drawing near to the border,” The gruff-looking knight let out a breath and crossed his arms behind his back; “She was interrogated, she confessed the crime, and was punished appropriately. Executed where we found her.”

“Aha, I’m sure she had quite a bit to say. Where did you find her skulking about?” The Count asked, leaning back a bit in his seat.

“An orcish settlement here in the Balthin Sea, should we report the settlement to the king?” The knight asked.

“Hardly something to be concerned about, the forest will swallow it up just as it has swallowed up every other attempt to settle out there. I wouldn’t worry. What of her confession, did you learn anything?”

The knight hesitated and then looked over to the left as if to acknowledge one of his men before looking back at the stone. “She claimed to have been sent by the King of the Azar as a messenger. While she confessed to her crimes I cannot help but be concerned about executing a foreign emmisar-”

He was cut off by a snarl and a hand slapping down on the table. The count glared daggers down at the small figure of the knight before letting out a breath and straightening himself up again. After a few centering moments he loomed down toward the knight and looked him square in the eyes; “Let me make sure you understand something, Justicar. There is no ‘Demon King’ that woman was a fiendish liar sent by some upstart Azar warlord to curry favor with our honorable king. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“She seemed quite convinced.”

“I will say it again, as it seems you need to have your ears examined by a medic when you return home, Wale. There is no ‘Demon King’. No Azar warlord has been crowned. It is impossible,” He lowered his voice; “The Cycle would have granted a hero to humanity as a warning. No such being has appeared in the Catacombs beneath the Capital. The cycle does not make errors. Therefore, there is no Demon King. Do you hear me, Justicar?”

“I find this Cycle talk to be difficult to swallow, Count Otel,” The knight said, looking guilty; “What if-”

“No what-ifs, and enough questions! Only the ruling houses of Katal know of the Heroic Cycle and you are quite fortunate that I shared this information with you at all, good sir. It puts you in a very unique position among the knighthood. I urge you not to forget that, mmm?” The count ground out.

Justicar Wale looked crestfallen for a moment but recovered, bowing once to his lord before turning to another one of his men. He raised his fist to his heart and then to his temple; “In that case, my Lord, I will be returning east to-”

“And the corpse?”

“Corpse, my Lord?”

“Of the lying Azaress!” The count slammed his fist on the desk.

“I am afraid it dissolved after her death, my Lord. Very strange magics these Azar use.”

The count snorted and crossed his arms. Clearly, the Justicar had not prepared properly for the eventuality of a spy prepared to keep their secrets concealed. Not that it mattered. The death of a spy would send the upstart Azar Warlord a clear message that such nonsense would not be tolerated. He shook his head and let out an overdramatic sigh before waving a dismissive hand; “Very well, return home and leave the orcish settlement to the forest to deal with, the matter is settled.”

The knight raised his fist one last time to his heart before cutting the feed. The Count sighed and got to his feet, brushing off his shoulders. At the very least the danger of an Azari spy had been nullified and the lives of his agents avenged. It was a pity he had lost a mage to the whole debacle-the spy had been quite skilled. Which made him wonder why she had surrendered so easily? Was it guilt over killing so many with so little effort involved? Irrelevant in the face of her heresy though, ultimately the Justicar had handled her punishment appropriately.

He plucked the blue crystal from the air and walked around his desk toward the door.

“Anya! Have Horvel prepare my carriage, I am going out!” He barked, opening the door to the chamber outside of his private office.

“At once, My Lord Count!” The young elf chirped, getting to her feet and hastily making her way down the hall. He watched her go while he placed the bluestone on the table. The young agent who had delivered it to him looked to the stone and then looked to him.

“My Lord?”

“Destroy the stone and then arrange for an accident for Justicar Wale.”

The young man bowed; “Yes, my lord.”

Volume 1 of the Mother of Monsters, END

To be continued in Volume 2!