Story #64 - Lamplight

Lamplight

Lamplight glittered off of the plate in front of him; the food was unappetizing even in the dim casts of the seven lit stands around the room.

An invitation from his uncle wasn’t something he could turn down – being Baron of the Western Tributaries granted the power of unrefused requests – though why the man so abruptly wanted his company was a mystery. They were hardly close.

“Riles!” His uncle gestured at him from the head of the table, not bothering to swallow before speaking. Bits of flaky crust spun from his lips to fall unnoticed among other dishes on the table, and Vicecount Riles Lillby made a mental note to stop eating as soon as what was on his plate had been consumed.

“Yes, my Lord?” His uncle demanded strict observance of protocol no matter the situation, a surprise given the disheveled look of the man. Riley was glad the table was so large; his position midway along one long side meant the maximum distance from the man at its head, as well as both other dinner guests.

“Before you arrived, the three of us,” he gestured around the table, “had been speaking of the great King’s policy. What is your opinion on the matter?”

Dangerous ground, but his uncle knew full well how he felt. Why bring it up here and now? Perhaps it was for the benefit of his other guests – his uncle had always taken pride in revealing the faults of others amidst large crowds or in public.

The other two at the table were an odd pairing; had he not seen them chatting before the meal was served he would have been sure they belonged to such vastly different circles that they had nothing in common about which to speak.

Of the two the woman was certainly the fairer prize, and not simply owing to his bias as a man. Gold-spun hair and a lithe frame were clothed in swathes of the finest silk, clearly marking her as highborn. Her companion, across from Riles and now looking at him slack-jawed as he awaited a reply to the Baron’s question, was something else entirely.

He hadn’t been able to get an accurate read on the man’s age, though he appeared to be no older than Riles himself. His uncle had always been spendthrift despite his position - lampoil was considered a luxury to be used sparingly - and while the dim light had the advantage of blurring the appearance of the poor attempt at cooking on his plate, it also made observing the young man more difficult.

Of a certainly, Riles could say that the man was dirty – not simply in the way that the recent dust storms had fouled all men, highborn and low alike, but almost aggressively, as if he were more comfortable behind a mask of grime.

With lank hair that could have been of any color along with a slumped posture and knobby hands, the man would have been out of place in the home of the poorest merchant and certainly had no business in the home of the Baron – except for the Baron’s obvious invitation.

“I find it repugnant, my Lord, and you know this. For the King to suggest that women – any women – are a form of public property violates the spirit of the End.” He was in the minority, certainly – many highborn found the prospect of unfettered access to any female form they wanted a titillating prospect – but the voices of his minority were growing. He had no fear of speaking his mind.

“He is your King, Riles. His word is law.” The Baron leaned forward, his substantial girth slopping into the gravy of his current helping of dinner as he pointed a grease-covered finger. The man spent like a peasant on everything but food and his bulk told the tale.

“No,” Riles said, shaking his head, “he is the King, not mine, and his word is only law so long as it does not conflict with what we know as right – what the End has spoken – and this law is in clear opposition.”

The filthy man across from him drew his attention again, not so much by gesture or appearance but by a set of eyes that smoldered low under furrowed brows and seemed fixed intently on every gesture he was making, every word that came out of his mouth. Clear and unwavering orbs, the eyes were a significant departure from the rest of the man.

“Nephew, I have always considered you to be at best a foolish dreamer, at a worst a gibbering idiot,” the Baron’s voice was condescending, a master speaking to a servant out of line, “but you may have a point.”

Riles snapped his attention to the large man at the head of the table. Could he have heard that correctly?

“What?” All semblance of forced respect was gone. Was this the truth of it? Had his uncle finally seen the error of his ways?

“Your dissent is gaining ground, nephew, in part because it relies so heavily on the laws set down by the End. This gives it traction, makes it powerful. Dangerous.”

The man across from him spoke, an echo of the highborn whose table he shared. “Dangerous.” There was something familiar in that tone, something known.

“I have not introduced you to my guests, Riles, and for that I apologize. The woman is Eilzra, a noble of some small standing in the country estates. The man is family – another of many young nephews the King’s favor has seen fit to bestow upon me.” A wide grin split his massive face. “Remarkably, certain family traits have bred extraordinarily true.”

Riles knew little of combat or strategy but could feel the shift in the room, feel the sudden burst of aggression carried by the words of the Baron. Pushing back his chair, he stood.

Men swept out of the shadows, driving forward from between softening pools of lamplight, black grips around their fingers, black masks upon their heads. Glasses were broken and plates shaken from clean cotton, but Riles had no real chance at escape, no real hope to resist and quickly found himself bound and gagged.

“The King’s word is law, my friends,” the man across the table said, rising, a familiar voice coming from his lips “and we must support him. We must cease this foolish opposition.” Riles had little opportunity to listen to himself – did he really sound so strident, so young?

“I’d often wondered what it would be like to have a family member I could be proud of, one that would live up to the high standards of our line and I’m sure you, Riles, with your misguided need to protect these lowborn of yours have wondered what it would be like to live among them, wallowing in their squalor. Now we can each have our way.” The Baron’s tone was boisterous, his features stretched, widened into a mimicking rictus of human happiness only partially blotted by the softening lamplight.

- D