Chapter 1774: Small Requests (Part Two)
Chapter 1774: Small Requests (Part Two)
"So tell me, Lord Dylan, what do you think will happen when the armies of two ’demon lords’ arrive in Lothian to discuss the founding of a new nation?"Dylan spent several moments sitting in silence without responding to the young man’s question, but while his body was still, his mind was racing.
When the Royal Court gathered, only fools or people pretending to be fools spoke quickly or said the first thing that came to their minds. At the moment, his own mind was far too turbulent to answer a question like the one Marcel had asked, but it was undoubtedly the most important question to answer.
In his mind, three things rose to the surface as the most important. Ashlynn was a witch who had conquered Lothian March. The fact that her husband had attempted to murder her was irrelevant. The Church would only applaud him for trying to kill a witch and within a few months, Owain might find his name inscribed on a wall of Sacred Martyrs in the Holy City...
Whether Owain deserved a place there or not, his value as a dead martyr might be the only thing that could eclipse his value as a living demon-slayer.
The second important thing was that, for the first time in the history of the Kingdom of Gaal, it had lost conquered territory. For a hundred years, the duchies and the heartland of the kingdom had known relative peace and prosperity while the frontier fought a series of endless battles and small wars that no one expected them to win.
So long as the fighting was contained to the marches, and the marches continued to pay their heavy tithes to the Crown, the dukes of the Ruling Council didn’t care what happened in the lands beyond their own borders.
That would all change now that Keating Duchy, and by extension, DuCoumont County, found themselves sitting on the border of an aggressive, expanding demon empire. No one could be complacent in the face of a threat like that.
Finally, and most importantly to him, he was caught squarely in the middle of the mess. Ashlynn was a witch, and from the way Marcel spoke, the ruler of this new nation. She was also his niece. If he said that he knew nothing of this, few would believe him... If he remained loyal to his duke and his king, he would be asked to prove his loyalty and the costs of meeting those demands would still leave his county devastated and impoverished... He could prove himself a loyal hound, but they’d work him half to death before the demands for ’gestures’ of men and materials stopped.
Or he could side with his niece and subject his county to the ravages of war as the forward position in a war his county would never survive. Not with the Trevarthens to the north of him and the rest of Keating to the south.
Either way, DuCoumont felt doomed, and soon, the whole world would know it.
"You said that my niece has suppressed the news for now," Dylan said once he’d finally gathered his thoughts. "But you’re right that she can’t stop word from spreading forever. Once there are demon armies at the gates of Lothian City, every lord with spies in the city will empty their pigeon coops to get word to their masters."
"The crown will learn of this within a week, two at most," Dylan said, drumming his fingers on the polished wooden table top. "Marquis Crew will hear of it faster, and so will Duke Keating. The Church might get word even faster," he said before turning to face his sister.
"Within a few days, I’ll get orders to seal Otker Canyon, blocking all travel in or out of Lothian March," Dylan concluded. "That’s why Mister Marcel is in such a hurry. If you don’t get through the canyon before the order to seal the border arrives, it may be impossible for you to cross."
"Well done, Lord Dylan," Marcel said, making a show of clapping softly. "What else?"
"I’ll be summoned to Keating," Dylan said, pursing his lips as he thought through the sequence of events that were certain to follow. "If I’m lucky, it will be a politely worded summons from the Duke. If I’m unlucky, I’ll be carried away in chains by the Inquisition. I suppose it depends on how dire the news coming out of Lothian sounds," he said with a helpless shrug.
"Father!" Micheline gasped, color draining from her face. "They can’t do that to you. You haven’t done anything wrong!"
"You think the Inquisition cares about whether or not he’s guilty?" Marcel snorted. "Owain Lothian poisoned his father, Bors, with ’Spider Demon Venom.’ In his final days of madness, he suffered from a delusion that Princess Jocelynn was his late wife. When the delusion cracked, he accused her of witchcraft and nearly killed her with his dinner knife," Marcel said flatly.
"When Eleanor saved her life, Bors summoned the Inquisition, accusing both of them of witchcraft, even though they ’hadn’t done anything wrong,’" Marcel continued, looking directly into the young lady’s trembling eyes. "The Inquisition executed Bors’ Master of Kitchens and his personal physician for conspiring to poison him, then they cut out their tongues and forced Jocelynn to eat them in an attempt to force her to ’confess’ to her crimes."
"She and Eleanor were tortured in freezing dungeons for days until Elanor burned up what was left of her life for one last miracle to save your cousin, Jocelynn," Marcel said. "And they call us ’demons,’" Marcel said with a bitter laugh. "Don’t ever for a moment think that ’innocence’ will protect you from the Inquisition, your ladyship. The more you protest your innocence, the guiltier they’ll think you must be."
"I think I’m going to be ill," Micheline said. The more Marcel spoke, the warmer the room felt, and her complexion had taken on a distinctly greenish hue. The scent of the warm chestnut soup sitting before her suddenly felt anything but comforting, and the sight of small bits of meat in the evening’s stew was impossible to look at as she imagined being served the tongues of other people.
"You’ve made your point, Mister Marcel," Maela said sharply. "I think that’s enough from you for tonight."
"Almost, Your Majesty," Marcel said as he reached into a small black satchel to retrieve a collection of scrolls. "I just have a few last pieces of business to conclude before we go..."
diymy