The Blind Valiant

ERRANT IS THE HEART.

 It was certainly midday when Kyrillos stirred awake from the sound of the agitated dialogue sparking rapidly on the other side of the door. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, doubtful that the meagre hours of sleep had done enough to stay the fatigue of his travel.

Kyrillos glanced around the room. He hadn’t paid much interest in the details when Carlan had directed him here, only kicked off his shoes and crashed into the bed.

It was an overstatement of a room as was everything concerning Marcian Demezieres’ taste in a home. A lavish private suite which had probably belonged to the dead family.

 The bedroom itself was the size of a small cabin and was lavishly furnished in showy pieces of superlative quality and design. Custom-made lamps hung overhead unlit, but would provide sufficient and flattering light while standing before the trifold full length gilded mirror.

The one comforting feature was his luggage placed at the foot of the armoire.

No doubt Father and Aunt Severa’s doing.

Seeing as the last time he had been here one sought to buy his approval with everything a fifteen year old boy would want while the other wanted to turn him into a repulsive and heartless bureaucrat.

And when he realized he was alone in the bedroom, he slid out of the comfortable bed, surprised that he had gotten some sleep compared to the last few weeks.

 The door opened and the quarrelling voices stepped inside. He turned his gaze from assessing the room to the two individuals standing before him.

Sharur looked incensed from the argument with his mother, though trying for passiveness. He was dressed in fine grey embroidered djellaba, tailored in the local style.

 Lady Severa, by how much appearance they shared, was definitely his mother. It was in the subtle and similar craft of their facial bone structures.

“Aunt.” Kyrillos acknowledged stiffly, knowing he was practically naked underneath the sheets.

“Your father sends his apologies for not greeting you on your arrival. Manfri was meeting with the Echelon all day.” The way she spoke was a perfect blend of her Burnish accent and the breezy articulation of the Echelon capital.

The enclave of Noirish nobility. Things must really be heating up for that to occur.

“I was too tired to care, really.”

 A saccharine smile stretched her painted lips. “I’m sure. I was still loath that Sharur and the others had shirked their proxy host duties and had not come to greet you. He’s here to apologize.”

Kyrillos really didn't mind that Sharur hadn’t shown up when he had gotten here, his cynical joke only what it was. But Severa Mortimer was always a moralist.

 Though it seemed she had not dragged her daughters here.

Kyrillos arched a brow with a glance at his cousin and remembered how one time he had caught Sharur hosting an orgy in his room, he hadn't even batted an eye of being remorseful.

Arrogant s**t.

“Is there an epoch or am I going to wait all day for the apology?”

A defiant smile tugged at his straight face. Sharur, so unalike his mother even when he strove bitterly hard not to be. “I apologise for my misbehavior in not greeting your arrival, cousin. I was just letting off steam with the absence of the shrew and the hawk.”

Kyrillos couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Those were the names they used for their parents. Sharur chuckled, green eyes cringing to near slits with his hilarity but he walked forward and embraced Kyrillos warmly.

 Here’s one person I’ve missed terribly.

“Since that is out of the way, we’ll leave you to freshen up and join us for lunch. Everyone’s been up for hours, but Princess Louscha mentioned something about you not getting enough sleep lately. So I let you have a few more hours of sleep.”

Severa broke them apart with speaking, her jade eyes shining in the streaming sunlight. Kyrillos noted the way she has said Louscha’s name.

“You missed breakfast. It was epic, the food was of course.” Sharur confided at his side with a wink.

But Kyrillos pinned a look at his aunt, remarking, “And maybe we can get to why I was all but summoned here?”

Severa c****d her head to the side and replied dry with terse strain, “That would be your father’s purview.”

Another arch of his brow at the woman’s flippant tone around the mention of her brother so unlike other times when they were two peas in a pod.

Trouble in paradise? But the information contained in the woman's words distracted him of the possible disharmony between them.

 Why in the Lemegeton, would he after what happened last time I was here? Severa turned to leave the room, Kyrillos and Sharur still standing side by side.

He reached to drop an arm over Kyrillos’ shoulders and squeezed warmly that he had to look meaningfully at his cousin.

“You need to take it easy on him. We’ve been through a lot these past few years.”

Kyrillos blinked, skeptically. “What, and you think I haven’t?”

“You, my runaway cousin, have spent the better part of a decade enjoying all the debauchery the Mortimer name could buy more than the rest of us. Traveling the continent in luxury, tallying up the count of your many lovers...”

Kyrillos rolled his eyes, laughing and Sharur dropped his arm before he started to leave the room but said in much more serious voice over his shoulder.

“Besides you have to be a little bit considerate. Lestair is dead.”

                                              ~♤~

Kyrillos hadn’t packed much clothes for his however-long stay in Marrąk because he was sure his aunt would’ve stashed every clothing space in his room upon his arrival.

When he got out of the washroom and opened the armoire, he was right. Tailored tunics- silk, satin, patterned; breeches and doublets to match each choice. It was all very Arsinor style.

He chose one of many black doublets, and picked at the silver buttons and lapel links as he stood before the mirror. Seeing the Mortimer crest etched in emerald dots on them, left a distasteful tug in his guts for some reason he couldn’t fathom yet.

In the Reliquary there were five dining halls demarcated by different floors of the building, two decadent and large enough to be used for Echelon dinners and balls which Athalia Demezieres had been known to host every turn of the week.

 No one ever ate in any one of those but the one on the third floor. It was small and more demure in its setting as opposed to the daunting appeal of the other two.

 Kyrillos realized that the individuals present, in this smaller circular room, were only the Mortimer family.

A short five foot table set with linen and dishes of eggs, ham, bacon, fowl, and oven-warm pastries were all laid out. Carafes of juice, wine, and milk. All of which made Kyrillos feel his stomach ache for a bite of.

 But all Kyrillos could see as he entered the still bright room was the man with substantial grey in his honey brown hair, talking over a raised porcelain painted cup at his mouth, in that familiar hoarsely deep accented voice.

He’d paused at the doorway to get some undisturbed look to his father.

 Lord Manfri’s raven black hair as well as his full beard had gone greyer than ever but it suited him better and made him look like the seasoned aristocrat he was.

 Like the imperious figure he poses to all of Evvoia.

Manfri Mortimer was a domineering man and siting down diminished that intimidation just as the first and last time Kyrillos had seen the man.

 Though his jade eyes still shone like emeralds on fire, the Madrigal Lord looked weary especially now that he'd looked up and took notice of his son’s entrance.

Manfri dropped the cup to the table, his mouth parted as if breath had been stolen from his lungs.

 There was an empty seat to his right, which was no doubt reserved for his young bride, all five other people at the table noticed his pause and looked up just as Kyrillos unfroze and went for a chair.

 “I apologise, you look so much like...”

“My mother, so I’ve been told.” Kyrillos cut him off tersely. Someone snorted to his right and said in a chirp of a voice that was ruined by the disdain it carried.

“I don’t remember Theodosia being described as having a swine’s face.”

 “Did someone finally dress a puck up and taught it to speak?” Kyrillos mused sincerely that caused the familiar younger girl of sixteen years to fluster.

“Elyse that was a rude thing to say to your cousin, after not seeing him for so long.” Lady Severa said in a serious reprimand.

Elyse glowered at Kyrillos as she raised a glass of pink juice from the table. “Ten years isn’t long enough.”

A chuckle came from the young man across Kyrillos, looking a few years older than him that he had to remember he had probably celebrated his twenty-third birthday- and as gravely handsome as Lord Manfri looked on his best days.

“You’d think, little Elyse has learnt to not speak ill of the dead or show her jealousy.” The man gave a curt look at Elyse who paled. “You don’t need to worry, you’re still growing into a lovely woman.”

That was the thing about Melek Mortimer, he gave just as easily as he took away. That went for also his compliments. Because those were the first thing he discovered people loved hearing him give out, so he took pleasure in tormenting them.

 “Look at us, agreeing like family for the first time.”

“It was exhausting for some of us, really. Why did you up and fall off the face of the world without telling anyone? Next time, a postcard would do a lot so we know where to come join you. Not for the loose lovers and opium dens; we heard of all the troubles you got yourself in at Gungnir.”

 Apparently Kyrillos wasn’t the last person to arrive at the lunch table. The voice huffed as the young woman- whom Kyrillos recognized to be Genoa, gracefully settled on the other side to Kyrillos, between her brother and mother.

 “I believe they are called prostitutes, Genoa.” Sharur quipped slyly. “Let’s not insult their occupation by not giving them the right name.”

 Genoa was what every male individual had declared as eccentric and elegant with her fine-boned wrists accentuated by fistfuls of tinkling bangles. Her hair was wild and loose, rippling across her shoulders in the colors of rosewood which made it more like a lion’s mane.

The sight of her always sent the oddest jolt of that self-awareness that came when danger was close through Kyrillos mixed with welcome affiliations, and Sharur never failed to take notice and cajole him with it.

Genoa took her seat, carefully moving her effete cyan lace – made in the native Marrąkan style; a shirt and skirt– aside, and beamed winningly at Elyse.

 Sharur always said that his two sisters were conceited beings who hated it when either one was the more shiny thing in a room than the other.

 And Kyrillos could see how Genoa’s presence greatly infuriated Elyse, from her unconscious grooming of her hair when not a hair was out of place. Regardless of how many years separated them, sister rivalry was palpable.

 Being the youngest Mortimer at the table, Elyse must have felt inconsequential compared to her confident older sister, aloof ingenious brother and powerful mother.

 Kyrillos always thought she resulted to distasteful attitude to set herself apart.

 “And let’s not bring up such distasteful conversation at lunch, shall we?” Lady Severa threw a rebuking look at her son’s comment.

Sharur chortled by his mother’s side, as clearly fascinated by the two girls’ spat as Kyrillos and Melek were.

 Elyse shot her brother a dark look, one Kyrillos had to admit was near as good as Severa’s and turned her into her mother’s miniature. Kyrillos couldn’t help but remember when they used to have lessons together in the second floor of the Lauzun Reliquary.

It seemed like lifetimes ago when he shared jokes with Sharur, made lily wreaths for Genoa to wear in her hair and the three of them pranking Melek and the rest of the apprentices every other day.

“That’s enough from all of you.” Lord Manfri broke out sternly, his eyes flashing across their faces. “We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

“Shouldn’t this wait? We haven’t seen Kyrillos in years and he comes back like a bat out of a Divine’s ass. At least let us hear a tale or two.” Genoa remarked with a quick curious peek at Kyrillos.

He replied with an amused smile at her not so delicate use of words, “They’re all interesting tales, believe me.”

Instead Lord Manfri shook his head. “There will be enough time for that. The sooner we get this on the way, the sooner you get back. As I’m sure the lords of Arsinor don’t much like your delayed absence.”

 Elyse opened to probably remark something witty and insulting but Sharur talked over her. “But there’s no rush. Some of us don’t want to return to dull family mealtimes just yet.”

Sharur shared a conspiratorial smile with Genoa who threw him a playful wink. Kyrillos suddenly felt envious at their nonverbal repertoire.

It used to be the three of them sharing the same inside jokes and causing mischief. Now it seemed like his cousins had left him out either for his prolonged absence or something else.

“I’m not sure what has spread through the continent or if it has spread far enough to Halgiers. But there’s been some incidents here that's troubling.”

“Trouble enough for the entire Echelon to have convened?” Genoa whispered next to Kyrillos as she picked a buttered pastry from a platter in front of her and took a bite of.

Lord Manfri straightened in his high backed chair, grim expression darkening his face at his niece. “How did you...”

“Someone unimportant might have let it slip before I left the Bastion. So what incidents has their sanctimonious asses so jilted?” Genoa looked at them all, munching her pastry leisurely.

Lady Severa cleared her throat, Kyrillos knew she didn’t like her eldest daughter’s offhanded voice but seeing as she could do nothing, simply expounded.

“Aside from the tragic m******e of the Demezieres family in their own home, the past two months, we’ve had to put down five revolts and three attacks on the Reliquaries across the Burnish borders. More than a dozen Fell assaults at each and helped by Burnise radicals, we’ve lost a good number of guardsmen in the process and six Potentates. The mortal losses alone has been staggering enough to have drawn the Pontiff’s notice.”

 Kyrillos was just as shocked as apparently Louscha and Genoa were, but when he looked to Melek’s face, his young uncle didn’t look perturbed which had to mean he already knew.

Yet when he met his grave look, grief and dread slashed through his insides that Kyrillos feared he might throw up.

Is that how Lestair died? Kyrillos wanted to ask but feared Genoa’s answer could make him feel worse.

Elyse shifted uncomfortably for a moment, before assuming a look of amused disbelief. “But that’s impossible, it has to be. I thought the Echelon made sure all Infernal grimoires were destroyed, centuries ago. What power would they have to make themselves such a nuisance?” She stated flatly.

A condescending grin slid across her face. Even her mother wasn’t spared from her skepticism.

“And do you think your uncle and I are fools to not have investigated thoroughly before? Or the other Madrigals of the other states who also have had the same dilemma?” Severa scowled at her daughter who shrunk back into her chair.

Lord Manfri, always the calm to his sister’s storm, added gently. “There hasn’t been a single rebellion of this magnitude for at least three hundred years. And it’s  growing still.”

Not since the days an Undying walked the continent. Kyrillos found himself mentally adding, dread still holding his tongue.

“So you can see how dire it is that the Echelon had convened and sent us here to investigate. The Demezieres didn’t just get killed by a revolt of their slaves. Something else is afoot.”

“But the revival of a revolution should not be cause for such panic and discontent? I mean I saw how tense the city was, when I arrived. The Echelon had quelled a good number of rebellions over the centuries.” Melek leaned forward with snow pale furrowed brows.

“When have you ever known the congregation of rebels and demon-worshipping infidels as a good sign?” Sharur uttered with a frown.

“So what is it we’re to do? What did the Echelon decide?” They all looked to the head of their family, Kyrillos’ father.

“We weren’t able to bring a single culprit in for questioning about these attacks. Doesn’t mean we didn’t try, some malignant sorcery drives those we apprehend insane and our spells moot once we begin interrogation. Then they die instantly from hemorrhaging.”

“So they have a way to escape divulging secrets of their operation upon capture. Whoever is leading them has access to really powerful sorcery.” It wasn’t until now Louscha had spoken that Kyrillos had even known she was at the table. Beside his father.

 Severa nodded at the princess’ insinuations. Sometimes Kyrillos forgot the princess was from a family well meshed in Echelon policies and so well educated in the Right Palm to understand some things about sorcery.

“The other Madrigals experienced the same thing and have had their regions under high investigations, suspects of the Fell movement have been rounded up. We’re trying doing the same here.”

“And what did you find out?” Melek asked eagerly, the excitement of the entire situation seeping into Kyrillos like opium- much as he loved to resist.

Lord Manfri handed out parched papers which, Kyrillos and Genoa saw held face sketches done in meticulous charcoal and pastel chalk strokes.

 “Only this. Whoever he is, he’s been pinpointed as a very high ranked member of the Kinship- that is what they are calling themselves. The other Madrigals reached the same juncture but have failed to get any further information on him or the Kinship. We believe he is responsible for the deaths of the Demezieres family.”

 “He infiltrated the Reliquary as one of the slaves in their household till he riled them up and led their slaughter.” Severa added.

Sharur asked, his eyes unmoved from the well made sketches in his hand. “They tried capture?” as his uncle handed out more sketches.

“Of course they did. But don’t they know evil psychopaths have an annoying affinity for escape?” Kyrillos nearly laughed at Elyse’s words if not for Severa’s next grim words.

“Pagne, Burnise, the East of Sp’r have all been left with the clear signs of similar rebellious attacks and also had presence of this man there at such times. It cannot be coincidence. Now he’s back here, in Marrąk.”

 The sketch was of a young man spotting a trim amber beard with hair he had sheared close to his skull, the hairline that dipped into a widow’s peak. His deep rusty skin was darker across the planes of his face- high ridges of cheekbones, brow, bridge of the nose.

His looks had brought unwarranted attention to his situation as a rebel.

“He doesn’t seem to have that dangerous blood-crazed look like the others I’ve seen. Handsome even.” Genoa commented as Kyrillos’ fingers traced out the good-looking suspect in the background of the towers of the Rhiomba.

 The youthful face showed up in more than a few of the sketches, each with notable landmarks of the mentioned cities. All five of them looked up at Severa as she continued with her insight.

“We think from all the assaults from the Kinship, they want something that’s related to the Undying Ones. Something they believe is theirs and the Echelon guards in one of our Reliquaries.” Kyrillos’ mind raced to all recorded evidences stored at the Reliquary attributed to that infamous name.

It struck at memories of his studies at Lauzun and his father's tutelage. “All these cities have common ties with Vereen during and after she was alive.”

 Kyrillos watched Louscha take up the steaming teacup in front of her, dropping the sketches back to the table. The painted designs on her hands briefly flashed a cyan glow. He decided he had to get some food into him or he wouldn’t have the strength to follow up this new worrisome and still thrilling incident.

“The peace of the Concordat hasn’t been disturbed in over a century and we must keep it that way. Evvoia cannot afford nor endure another full scale war amongst us.”

“Whoever this Fell is, we get to him before he can cause anymore damage. Marrąk is still a city of Fell sympathizers, so we must be careful in rooting him out.” Lord Manfri enunciated firmly, turning his eyes to each of them.

“So what, we’re all to go into the streets to hunt this one Fell fugitive? Isn’t that in the job description of our guards of the city watch or perhaps the Potentates?”

“Afraid to get your nails chipped?” Kyrillos taunted with a hint of cynicism.

Elyse retorted with a dark look. “We’re the foremost Echelon family in Evvoia. Not many have the luxury of being the last one the fight gets to.”

 Kyrillos rolled his eyes and snorted loud and reproachful enough before replying. “Not many are good enough to even last a second in the fight. But she’s right, you have resources to cover more ground so if this is why you all but dragged me by the hair back here, I’d like to leave.”

 Genoa shared a surprised look with her brother on hearing that. It wasn’t every day he agreed with Elyse nor hurriedly left their company.

“It isn’t.” Lady Severa replied and Manfri blinked at his elegantly ageing sister. She straightened and steepled her fingers over her lunch, her lined gaze shared by her brother.

“We’ve not decided when or who, but I will start grooming one of you to take my place on the Echelon.” All five younger Mortimers shared a startled gasp and looked at each other then back at Lord Manfri and Severa.

 Kyrillos noticed then that Louscha had thrown him a chance look during this brief moment of shock. She knew how this news could impact him.

 Then Sharur’s abrupt answer rang through the hall, drawing back his attention. “Wait are you saying we’re all on equal footing to the inheritance? What about Melek or Genoa?”

 And why are you even bringing it up now? Just when he’s gotten Marrąk? Is he dying?

“I’m not even a legitimate Mortimer. I shouldn’t even be an option.” Kyrillos added with a puzzled tone. He had never known a Madrigal to give up power without dying. Nor had he expected this from his father.

“Or a true Noirish for a more pressing factor. Why should he be put into consideration?”

Because I’m still Manfri’s direct blood, regardless of Echelon law and not all of you can boast of that.

“You could be the first mortal to hold an Echelon seat.” Genoa smiled, already throwing her support for him.

Lady Severa resumed to speak. “Yes Echelon laws prohibit you from any family inheritance but your prowess is not without exceptionality. And you all know the rule of succession doesn’t require such feudal factors.”

“Besides, primogeniture or personal desire isn’t an excuse to proving ones capacity for leadership.” Lord Manfri replied, staring straight at his son.

Genoa chortled beside Kyrillos, who saw that mischievous glint in her amber eyes and he wondered what she would do with this information.

“The Echelon is going to rage over this breach of tradition.” Melek muttered with a hint of amusement.

“I’m surprised you aren’t stampeding around the place already.” Sharur countered him with a suspicious look.

 But Melek had always lackadaisical about his duty of being a Mortimer, despite being Lord Manfri’s and Severa’s younger brother.

 But Kyrillos was frowning at his father. “What if I don’t want it? I’ve never liked the bureaucracy of the Echelon, never wanted to be part of it. And I already have enough responsibility in Arsinor.”

“Because you’re not intelligent enough for it.” Elyse chided, the obvious excitement of the declaration glinting in her eyes.

“As you are daft with any of the sorceries, dear cousin.” Kyrillos countered venomously as he rose up to his feet, the plates and cutlery clinked at his abrupt rise.

He glared from Elyse to his father's expectant face. “If you’d known me better, you would know that I would never want this. I’m fine with my life as it is.”

“Are you? I know the problems you are facing from the legates in Arsinor. As Madrigal you won’t have to answer to any king or nobleman; some of them will even answer to you.”

 The color draining from his face made Lady Severa’s words seem very certain. It was like Kyrillos was faced with his worst nightmare right there on the faces of his relatives.

He looked to be scared. By the Lemegeton, I don’t want to be here. Why did I even come back?

“Kyrillos,” Lord Manfri’s concerned voice struck Kyrillos hard enough. The man wasn’t known for his tenderness especially to his family. And seeing it firsthand, was something more than unusual.

“I’m leaving.” Kyrillos scowled and stormed out of the room.