Page 125 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

The guard that brought Ariadne in moved forward. Azriel cried and clutched at Ariadne’s head harder. Melia couldn’t take her from him. He wouldn’t let anyone take her from him. Never again. Not the last remnants he had.

But the magic lit up in his collar, seizing his body more completely than he’d ever felt it before. He tried to scream again as the guard pried the head from his arms. Struggling against the magic locking him in place, he watched in horror as, bit by bit, pieces of her face fell away. It slapped to the floor and covered his hands, fingers still tangled with her hair.

“Get him out.” Melia didn’t look back at him, and Paerish only stared in shock. When the guard captain did not move, the Desmo cursed. “Are you deaf?”

Paerish snapped back to life, their eyes swiveling back to Azriel, his throat raw from the scream that could never escape and body still locked in place. They moved to him, loosening the magic’s hold just enough to haul him to his feet. “Come.”

It wasn’t until he was back in the training yard that feeling returned to Azriel’s body. Paerish stood beside him in silence for a long time as he collapsed to the ground, heaving in breaths that only left him in wails. He didn’t know how long he lay there, fingers digging into the sand and tears evaporating as quickly as they dropped.

All he knew was pain.

Chapter 30

Madan would lose his mind locked in that manor patrolled by Loren’s soldiers. Though they did not come inside uninvited again—and he’d rather cut off his other hand than invite them in—he didn’t trust they weren’t reporting back any of his movements. With no messages in or out that wouldn’t be read, he had no means of communicating with the Lords of his Lower Council.

At least not without encoding it first.

The only problem with doing so, however, was that he didn’t know any of them well enough to make references, nor did he have enough time to plan for such things. This only made things worse as he began to receive letters from the Lords, none of which were forthcoming or included any hints as to what to look for. Margot, despite her attempts to help, had nothing to offer.

After spending five centuries priding himself on his analytical mind—of which he’d always found time to remind Azriel—he was now at a loss. Answers, he prayed, lay within what remained of Garth Caldwell’s belongings, which had long since been shoved into small crates and set aside to make room for Azriel. Then Madan. And their grandfather kept everything.

Like every other room of the manor, the drapes of the office were now pulled shut, even at night. If he wasn’t allowed to leave, he’d permit no one to see into his home. Privacy being all they had left, the servants and Margot had wholeheartedly agreed.

Madan dragged out two boxes from the corner and shoved the couches aside. Neat and orderly though he was, desperate times often called for a little chaos. At least at first. He upturned the first crate onto the low table at the center of the room before plopping onto the red and brown rug, crossing his long legs under him.

He made several stacks out of the papers he sorted through. Correspondence from the High Council, mainly the Princeps, occupied the space to the far left of the table. The likelihood of him finding anything of worth within those documents was slim. On the far side of the table, he piled up any letters from Eastwood’s Lower Council. This was the most likely place to find something, but digging in before organizing the rest didn’t sit right with him. Personal letters from friends and Margot were shuffled together underneath the table, unneeded entirely. A separate stack was created for the minimal written correspondence with the Crowe. He’d investigate those later. The final pile contained all documents detailing land ownership, taxes, and other business dealings.

Satisfied with the organization, Madan dug into the letters from the Lords. They were as dry as he anticipated. Nothing jumped out at him as a form of code used amongst them for discreet matters.

Then again, had Garth or any of his Lower Councilmen ever been imprisoned in their own homes due to a radical general’s militaristic jurisdiction? Not likely.

But the more Madan read from Lord Veron Knoll, the more he began to understand the Caersan. Old and wise, the vampire was a seasoned veteran of the army and second-eldest son of the Knoll family. His elder brother had been killed during a dhemon raid two thousand years ago. He used long-game strategy tactics in many aspects of his life, enjoyed a rousing game of pall mall, and knew something had been happening between Garth Caldwell and the Crowe shortly before their deaths.

It was on these letters that Madan dwelled. At no time did Veron mention the Crowe by name or even by lineage. Madan knew they spoke of the Crowe because the writing changed. While the penmanship itself remained static throughout, the pattern and grammatical formatting shifted in a strange, irregular pattern. He even used colloquial contractions not considered proper amongst the Caersans. Most of all, a very specific he was mentioned throughout.

After studying his writing style and using these letters as a key, Madan settled into the chair behind the large desk, where he pulled forward Veron’s most recent letter first.

Lord Governor -

It is with my most sincere apologies that I must cancel our upcoming appointment to discuss the harvest tax collection. This is an important time of year during which I am certain you would appreciate guidance. Unfortunately, I’ve been detained.

Due to this cancellation, I will do my best to provide you with as many details as I am able within this letter. I’m sure you understand why this troubles us all. The people of Monsumbra will come to you, as they have always done. No need to change anything due to our current predicament. It’ll change soon, I am certain.

Each household pays their tax as one to minimize the number of transactions required. Eastwood’s accountant will be present to collect the money prior to its distribution to you, the High Council, and the Provincial Bank for future renovations. You’ll be in charge of when this happens. But never fear! We’ll be ready to support as needed.

Residents unable to pay their taxes and are not behind on payments are asked to save and present one and a half next season. Residents unable to pay their one and a half carries over from the previous season are to be penalized. This isn’t ideal. Members of the household are chosen to pay their dues in manual labor for the Province. It’ll be difficult work, but worth it in the end.

We have time until the harvest tax begins, so do not fret. Included is a document of Lords who collect within their own estates and pay the lump sum to you. You’ll need allies. They’ll be of more help than I can during this time.

With respect,

Lord Veron Knoll

Madan stared at the letter for a long moment, then pulled a blank sheet of paper to him, inked his pen, and rewrote the sentences that stood out:

Unfortunately, I’ve been detained. I’m sure you understand why this troubles us all. It’ll change soon, I am certain. You’ll be in charge of when this happens. We’ll be ready to support as needed. This isn’t ideal. It’ll be difficult work, but worth it in the end. You’ll need allies. They’ll be of more help than I can during this time.

Sitting back, he read and reread the message. If he’d guessed correctly and Lord Knoll wasn’t merely prone to writing in such an erratic manner for a Caersan, then the vampire and the rest of the Lower Council were just as displeased with this turn of events. What was more, they were ready to take up arms and fight back—alongside Madan’s allies. Did he know who they were?

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