Joel Shepherd - Petrodor

“You know I'm a bad enemy to have, Rhillian. Best that you kill me now.”

A tear spilled down Rhillian's cheek. “You know I won't.”

“Then I'll never fear you, and you'll have failed.”

Rhillian nearly smiled. Her lips twisted faintly. She took a deep, trembling breath. “You're impossible.” She leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye, Sasha. Farewell. Try to understand.”

Sasha embraced her. Rhillian returned it, one-armed, leaving her sword-arm free. “If you hurt him,” Sasha said fiercely against Rhillian's shoulder, “I'll kill you.”

“I know,” said Rhillian. “You won't need to, I promise.”

“Don't think for a moment this is over.”

“Nothing is ever over, Sasha,” Rhillian said sadly. “Endings are only the beginnings of something else.”

It was only after Rhillian had departed into the dark that Sasha realised she did not know where the Shereldin Star was.

Patachi Maerler awoke to the realisation that he was not alone in his chambers. A silver blade reached nearly to the tip of his chin, gleaming in the dim light from beyond the high chamber windows. The hand about the hilt was gloved in black. Above a silken handkerchief, emerald eyes shone bright in the darkness.

At first, Alron Maerler thought he must be dreaming. These were the things of nightmares, the ghost stories about the demons of Saalshen and their ability to walk through walls. Alron knew the defences of Maerler House, and knew that it was impossible for any intruder to sneak through with nary a sound. And yet, here she was.

Alron's sleep vanished in a rush of fright.

“M'Lady Rhillian,” Alron ventured. “You look displeased.” From his side came a soft stirring.

“If she screams, you die,” said the serrin, cold and hard. The girl in Alron's bed turned over, blinking sleepily from beneath the covers…and her eyes widened. Alron's hand clamped hard over her mouth, stifling the scream.

“Do not speak, do not move, do not think,” Alron told her firmly. “Understand?” The girl only stared. “Understand!” Finally a terrified nod. Alron removed his hand slowly and propped himself on his pillow as the sword retreated a fraction. Some fools refused even now to recognise the martial skills of serrin women.

He stroked his long, brown hair back into place and made a smile at the demon-lady. It had worked so often before on ladies of all kinds. This particular demon-lady had seemed somewhat affected on previous visits. He saw no reason why he could not reverse this situation also.

“M'Lady Rhillian,” he said, fluffing a lacy sleeve cuff languidly. “An unexpected pleasure. Pray tell me, what takes your fancy on this lovely evening?”

“You betrayed me,” she said. From her posture, and the angle of her sword, it seemed to Alron Maerler that this one would be a little more difficult to charm than most.

“Betrayed?” He gave her an astonished, hurt look. “Surely not. We had an arrangement of convenience, dear lady, nothing more.” The blade moved; a slow, deliberate shift of weight. At Alron's side, the girl whimpered. “Quiet, fool,” he told her. She was the daughter of a cousin of Patachi Haldera, nothing of great significance. And now it was her misfortune to hear everything that was about to be said. Such words could not be allowed to spread. Surely Cousin Taberi could think of a…quiet solution. Delicate, unlike the head-chopping heathens of the north slope. A drop of silverleaf in the soup, perhaps. Or a nasty fall down the stairs.

“We had an agreement,” said the she-demon. “We were on the same side.”

Alron nearly laughed. He bit it off in time, and struggled for a moment to contain his mirth. “Please,” he finally managed, “you must understand my position. I can only fight the fights that I can win. I assure you, it pains me to see that horrid buffoon Steiner gain command of the Army of Torovan, and with the archbishop's blessing at that. The coming years shall be dark indeed for my house, as we shall be forced to pay obeisance to uncultured heathens at every turn. House Steiner's power in Petrodor shall grow, and there shall be very little I or my allies can do about it…” he shrugged, “I have struggled very hard to prevent such an eventuality.

“And yet, here we are. The archbishop beseeches the people to make war on Saalshen, and I cannot very well go against the archbishop, can I? He says the serrin are the enemy, he makes the believers of Petrodor and Torovan believe the serrin are the enemy…should I sacrifice my house, my family and partners in trade for Saalshen? Would you sacrifice Saalshen for me and mine? I think not.”

“They say in Petrodor, it is death to break a deal.”

“My Lady,” Alron said with exasperation, “you are not being reasonable. House Maerler required an alliance with Saalshen in the short term because, although it pains me to admit it, the southern stack is a lesser stack than the northern one. Then, that alliance served some useful purpose. Now, it simply cannot be. I am very sorry that you feel betrayed, but…” again, he shrugged, “this is Petrodor, my Lady. The archbishop was nicely contained until he and some other assorted thugs of Steiner's started murdering the counterbalancing priests, and so he comes to this, the incitement of the crazed and desperate masses. You have suffered their wrath, my Lady, and I am sorry for it. Surely you could not expect me to volunteer for the same fate?”

It seemed that the serrin actually smiled beneath her silken handkerchief. Her snow-white hair was covered too, leaving only the green eyes visible, hovering in the dark.

“Fear not, dear Alron,” she said. “All is not lost.” She reached into a hidden pocket and withdrew a gleaming, golden object. Tossed it to him. A weight landed on Alron's middle. He looked with a frown…and his eyes widened. It couldn't be. “It is yours now,” she said mildly. “You can do with it as you please. Should you proclaim to lead the Army of Torovan to replace the star in the Enoran High Temple yourself, I am sure that many would follow.”

“You utter fool,” Alron breathed. He did not reach for or touch the golden object. He wished to, but his hands refused to move. “What have you done?”

“I have given you power, Patachi Maerler. Power such as Marlen Steiner does not possess. Nor, indeed, the archbishop.”

“You've started a war.” Alron stared at her in disbelief. “Steiner and the archbishop will rally the dukes and burn the southern houses to the ground when they hear of my possession. They…they've…damn it woman, look what they did to Dockside, all to reclaim this one golden trinket!”

“Fear not the archbishop,” Rhillian said softly, almost pleasantly. “His days are now finished. Another shall soon take his place, and if we do not like his propositions either, perhaps another, and then another.”

Alron shook his head slowly. His heart galloped like a frightened horse. “You…you didn't.”

Rhillian shrugged, a faint motion of the silver sword in the dark. “I sent my most capable person. I am standing here before you. I assure you, these days the archbishop is far more lacking of faithful protectors than you are. Many of his own people liked him not.” The sword-tip tapped the golden star, gently. “So surprised, Patachi Maerler? So shocked? What's another little assassination between Petrodor adversaries? One of you would have done for the archbishop soon enough.”

“That is a business between the men of Petrodor!” Alron insisted angrily.

Rhillian nearly laughed. “Oh, but you invited us to play, Master Maerler! Do not be such a poor sport. One can hardly complain if one invites an acquaintance into a game of dice and the acquaintance ends up taking all of your money. And please, do not think of denying you have possession of the star. You have on your staff several agents of Steiner, as you surely know, but one of them is actually an agent of ours. Already she has told Steiner that she has seen you in possession of the star.”