Order Overturned - The History of Hendrick Dolban

[Baboonicorn]

The early hours of 13 Eleint, 1347

A pall of black smoke rose into the night air above Castle Tethyr, the usual silence of the witching hour shattered by cries and shouts and the sound of burning timber and cracking stone. The seat of the Alemandrian monarchs was ablaze, and few of those clustered in its courtyards had arrived to help quench the flames.

In a lofty guest bedroom, priceless silks and tapestries already spoiled by the fire, the Duke of Dusk forced another cry from his smoke-ravaged lungs. The flames had already reached his doorway, and the only route of escape was the window and a vertiginous plunge onto the cobbled plaza below. "STEWARD!" roared the old tyrant, before collapsing onto his knees to cough up another load of bloody phlegm. "WHERE ARE YOU!?"

***

A small, slightly built man scurried down the corridor, head held low out of the smoke. He paused for a moment as he heard the Duke's furious cries, a hand subconsciously going to the bulging bag of gems at his belt, before his resolve strengthened and he continued in the opposite direction. No bard writes ballads about the heroism of a steward, he thought as he scurried down a creaking spiral staircase.

In the hall below, a grisly scene unfolded. A man he recognised as the Captain of the Guard was slumped against the wall, a horrendous gouge in his stomach. A few other palace guards clustered around him. The largest of them held a key on a broken silver chain as he turned to face the steward.

"Uncle, you're alive?"

The steward replied "That I am, Rikard. Though not for much longer, were this tower to collapse around us."

"We guards got to go protect the king's treasure vaults, Uncle. Make sure nobody gets to them what shouldn't."

"Of course, Rikard. My brother would be so proud. Might you know of a means of escape, for one not so bold?"

"There's a servant's passage out the kitchens, two doors on th'right, Uncle. That'll take ya into the vegetable gardens. Go on, get going."

The steward nodded. His nephew had never been an especially altruistic or honorable soul, and he had no doubts that his intentions for the Alemandrian treasury were equally ignoble, but pragmatism dictated that he thank the lad and make his escape.

***

Wrapped in a ragged servant's cloak and cowl, the steward stumbled out of the passageway and into the hot, smoky night air. He could hear the shouts of the mob in the main courtyards, but they had not yet overrun this place. Little plunder from turnips, he thought, as he crept along the inner curtain wall and towards the South gate.

A throng of fleeing maids, cooks and servants already made haste for freedom that way, and the mob, for the most part, paid them little heed. He mentally blocked the shrieks of one of the prettier maids who had not escaped the mobs' notice, hoping she would put up enough of a fight to distract them until he was well clear.

A few moments later, the steward was passing under the South Gate, the burning castle behind him and the ruins of his comfortable life with it. One day, they will pay for what they have done to our country, he thought with venom that surprised even himself.

[Baboonicorn]

The steward trudged down the Ithal Road, wrapped in a ragged travellers cape and supported only by a walking staff. Thirty years of service to the tyrannical Lord Illehhune had taught him many things, but the foremost of these was an uncanny ability to avoid notice when he did not wish to disturb his ill-tempered master. In that fashion, and perhaps given his shabby appearance, he seemed to have avoided the worst attentions of the mobs of ne'er-do-wells ranging the countryside.

Most of the gems he had stolen from Lord Illehhune were now long gone, bartered away in exchange for his life, though he had kept some "worthless" papers pertaining to land ownership and trade agreements hidden away in his robes. The silver signet ring with which he sealed the Duke's correspondence was also secreted away - he thought it extremely unwise either to part with it or indeed, show it to any of the revolutionaries.

He had no real notion of why he was heading east - Castle Dusk and the Golden Marches were hundreds of miles to the east and he was scarcely a man who had taken much exercise in the preceding years. Perhaps I should have headed home to Zazesspur? he thought, before thoughts of seeing the city in flames entered his mind. What of my brother? Survale Ford is along the same road... but I hardly feel I would be comfortable - or welcome - amongst the paladins of the Silver Chalice...

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of hooves on the road ahead of him. What looked like three knightly war chargers thundered down the Ithal Road, and the steward stepped to the verge to allow them to pass. His heart sank as they brought their mounts to a halt and one of the men dismounted and approached him.

"Tell me peasant! What news of the road?" ordered the knight, raising his visor. The steward recognised the man as Tannus, one of Lord Illehhune's vassals and an ambitious merchant who the Duke had elevated to knighthood to gain greater control over his personal fortune.

"Only the usual brigands and miscreants, your honour." replied the steward, unsure as to whether Tannus would recognise him.

"Your voice sounds familiar. Show your face." Tannus said, in the same stern, commanding tone. The steward cautiously lowered his cowl, revealing a dust-spattered countenance, but the knight's expression still softened in recognition.

"It is you. The Duke's lackey. Does our Lord still live, I wonder?" asked Tannus, though the steward's road-worn appearance seemed to answer the question before he could do so.

"Lost in the fires of Castle Tethyr, such that I am aware, sir." The steward answered, hoping that his version of events was indeed the truthful and accurate one.

"I see. Still, we may have use for one such as you. His Grace often said you had an appreciable mind for figures, a thing that my associates and I could make use of. Come with us, unless you have more pressing plans? Tannus added with a smirk.

***

The ship lurched in the waves, bound for Athkatla. Tannus and the other knights were asleep in their cabins, but the steward paced the decks, feeling decidedly queasy and ill-disposed towards a maritime existence. We shall meet our allies at the Q'alel Goldsmith's Shop, Tannus had said. The plan, as he described it, was a simple one, but one which the steward was happy to go along with. Fortune favours not only the bold, he thought, but also the shrewd.