Subtle Justice

Vixin stood in the corner of his room watching the Flen dress. It was a strange, surreal experience. The man moved slowly and unsurely, as if he only had a tenuous hold on reality. Even putting on a simple white shirt was difficult, and not just because of his emotional and mental stability. It was also difficult because of the five different Bloodblades bonded to his person.

Aia above. Vixin swore to himself, pale and shaking. What have I gotten myself into?

They had arrived in Matrikai late in the night, maybe an hour before the sun was to set and begin the day. Everyone, Vixin, the Flen, even their horse, was exhausted. They had not stopped once on their long ride to the Glausianian capital. They could not afford to stop. If anyone had gotten a good glimpse at the Flen, covered in blood…

Vixin didn’t want to even think about it.

He watched the Flen continue to dress and stared at the Bloodblades. Two on each arm, one stabbed into his chest, right above the heart. Vixin was not sure how that was even possible; the skin above the heart couldn’t have been thick enough to accommodate a hilt. The alternative was another thing that Vixin did not want to think about.

The Flen stood, completely dressed. Vixin marveled at the fact that, even though it looked as though the Flen was struggling to clothe himself, he was crisp and impeccable. His doublet fit on his person just right, the shoulders sharp and intimidating. His pants fit perfectly, accentuating but not showing off his muscled legs. The boots were the perfect height, and he looked extremely comfortable in them.

I wish I could look half as good as this man does. Vixin thought to himself. Maybe people would respect me a bit more.

“Is this correct?” The Flen asked quietly, lifting his arms and gesturing at himself. “I was unsure whether I was doing it right.”

“Oh, no.” Vixin said quickly, shaking his head. “You look perfect. In fact, I was wondering myself, how did the clothes fit so well? I found them in a linen basket.”

The Flen looked confused. “I made them fit.” He said simply, eyes narrowed. “I broadened my shoulders a bit, shortened my legs, and shrunk my feet.”

Vixin was at a loss for words. He had heard how the Flens were able to change themselves and their bodies, but he had never had occasion to witness it firsthand. He supposed that, if he had, he wouldn’t be standing here at this moment. He would probably be greeting Aia in the afterlife.

“We need to find you someplace to hide.” He finally managed to say, walking to the door and pulling it open. He peered around the corners and let out a sigh of relief when he saw no one at all.

“Why?” The Flen asked simply, standing completely still next to Vixin’s bed. Vixin gave him a strange look.

“You’re a Flen.” He said slowly. “Most people don’t think you exist, and the ones who do would kill you on sight.”

“You didn’t.” The Flen said softly. Vixin sighed and walked over to the Flen, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder once more.

“I am a special case.” Vixin said soothingly. “Most men don’t understand what we both feel.”

“Why?” Came the reply.

“Most men haven’t killed like we have.” Vixin said with a hint of annoyance. He hoped that the Flen would not ask why to every single statement Vixin made. Blessedly, the Flen seemed to like this answer, and did not say anything in response. Vixin glanced over his shoulder at the door, watching for signs of other people in this wing of the palace. Suddenly, a thought came to him.

“What’s your name?” He asked the Flen, looking him in the eye. When the Flen looked confused, he added, “I need something to call you by.”

The Flen nodded, apparently understanding. “Efstany.” He said slowly. “My name is Efstany.”

Vixin said nothing, wheels spinning furiously in his head. The name held no clues as to Efstany’s nationality; indeed, Vixin had never encountered a name like it before. He tried saying it, the word stumbling off his tongue awkwardly. Efstany appeared not to have heard.

“We need to get you out of here.” Vixin said after a moment, grabbing the man’s hand and dragging him to the door. Before he could exit, however, a glimmer of light crested over the horizon and streamed through the window. Vixin gasped; he had remembered something important.

“I am scheduled to give a report to King Gestarin around now.” He told Efstany, flustered at how he had forgotten so quickly. He supposed that the stress of the night before had dulled his wits.

“I will come with you.” Efstany said simply, pushing past Vixin into the hallway. “Perhaps I could make a request to be on the king’s serving staff.”

Vixin opened his mouth the object; the problems with that plan were many. However, he stopped, pondering the wisdom in Efstany’s plan. If Efstany made such a request to the king, and Vixin made a statement vouching for the man, the king would likely grant his request. And, that way, Vixin could keep a close eye on the most dangerous man in the palace, perhaps the world.

It would make my job easier. He supposed to himself. An enemy near me is about as dangerous as a sheathed sword. Unless it is thrown into a bad situation, it cannot do any harm.

“Very well.” Vixin said aloud, grasping Efstany’s arm. “Your idea seems good, and I have no objections.” Efstany nodded and began walking down the hallway; Vixin, however, did not follow.

“How do you know the way to the throne room?” He called to Efstany, who stopped and slowly turned around.

“I have been here before.” He said simply, before turning around and walking briskly once again. Vixin jogged to catch up to him, wondering for a third time what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

Gestarin lounged on his throne, bored with the day’s events. Petitioners seemed to pick today, already Gestarin’s least favorite day, to pester him with the worst complaints. Gestarin did not understand some of their plights. For example, there were two farmers fighting over two different horses. Both claimed that the other had stolen their prize animal, and each swore that the strong, gray stallion that whinnied and tossed its head was their own. The brown, slightly emaciated horse was left in the corner, waving its tail at flies but not doing much else.

“He took it in the dead of night, your majesty.” The first farmer accused, pointing a stiff finger at the other one. “He stole it and replaced it with that disgusting creature over there.”

“Obviously old age has muddled your senses, Trilin.” The second farmer, Hinor, scoffed. “You’re insulting your own animals now.” The insults quickly turned into pointless bickering.

Gestarin rubbed his eyes and yawned on his throne, futilely wishing that the day would end. Just as he was about to call for the headsman to end his misery, the doors to the hall blew open as a strange man strode confidently through, trailed by a flustering Vixin Xiviir. Gestarin sat up quickly, confused at the outburst.

The strange man in front pushed right past the bickering farmers, bumping Trilin to the ground. Both men stopped talking immediately and stared at the newcomer as Vixin ran, huffing and puffing, up to the throne.

“Your majesty-” He began, but he was interrupted by the strange man genuflecting ostentatiously before the king.

“Lord Gestarin,” The man said humbly, though a gasp quickly followed his salutation. Men did not address the king as “lord”, and they most certainly did not use his name.

Gestarin, however, was amused. The man’s familiar greeting was a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy flattery and obeisance he received from everyone else.

“Say on, goodman.” Gestarin said smoothly, and he received his own gasp from the assembled courtiers. “Though I would appreciate your name. Calling you ‘goodman’ would get old after a while.”

“This is Efstany, your majesty.” Vixin interrupted, walking in front of the bowed Flen. “He is a cousin of my sister in-law, and I have been given the task of caring for him.”

“Of what care does he need, Viceroy?” Gestarin said, puzzled. “The man looks very capable to me. What is his trade?”

“He has none, your majesty.” Vixin said sadly. “He used to be a carpenter, but an accident involving a falling beam of wood destroyed most of his memory, and he cannot perform as he used to. Indeed,” He shot a glance at the kneeling man. “He even has forgot how to properly address those higher than himself.”

“It’s all right, Viceroy.” Gestarin said with a wave of his hand. “It’s refreshing to be addressed as a common nobleman. What is your request, Goodman Efstany?”

“I wish to be on your serving staff, my lord.” Efstany said, his head perpetually bowed. Gestarin marveled at the hardiness of the man’s back, neck, and legs. “I cannot continue in my chosen profession, but I would like to continue to work. My cousins and relatives cannot continue taking care of me, and I wish to be able to support myself.”

“I cannot deny a man the right to work.” Gestarin agreed. “Very well. How would you like to be my butler?”

“Your majesty.” Vixin said in shock. “That kind of servant leaves you dangerously vulnerable.”

“Do you not trust your kin, Viceroy?” Gestarin said with surprise. “I would think that, even in Quasexa, a man would not betray his family.” He looked back at Efstany. “Rise, Goodman Efstany. What is your answer?”

“I accept it, my lord.” Efstany said grandly, rising and standing in an almost military posture. His arms clasped tightly behind his back, feet slightly apart, he looked to Gestarin like a man who had seen battle. Interesting.

“Excellent.” Gestarin said, clapping his hands. “Vixin will escort you to my chambers and introduce you to the other staff. They will instruct you in your duties.” Efstany nodded curtly, turned about, and strode out of the room. Vixin stood still in front of the throne, eyes downcast.

“Thank you, your majesty.” He said formally. “It pleases me to know that he will be able to take care of himself.”

“I’m glad, though a little puzzled.” Gestarin replied, raising an eyebrow at Vixin. “Why were you put in charge of this man? You aren’t exactly the closest relation to him.”

Vixin fidgeted a bit. “I’m the only one in a position of power.” He said somewhat sheepishly. “They thought that, with my position, I could get him a better job than the others could.”

Gestarin smiled. “They thought correct.” He said. A soft “Ahem” came from his right, and he looked to see Trilin and Hinor standing patiently.

“Your majesty,” Hinor said, stepping forward a bit. “There is still the matter of our little problem.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Trilin agreed, walking forward enough to be closer to Gestarin than Hinor. “Who does this beautiful creature belong to? The man who raised him as a foal, or the thief who stole him in the night?”

“Enough.” Gestarin growled, raising a hand to forestall any further wheedlings. “Here is what we will do.” He drew his Bloodblade suddenly, the blades elongating and sharpening in his hand. The blood drained out of the farmer’s faces as Gestarin walked towards them, crimson blades glinting wickedly, but he walked right past them. He strode purposefully up the gray stallion and raised his left Blade.

“I will cut the animal in half, and you each will get part of him.” Gestarin said flatly, pointing at the men with his right. “That way, there will be no argument.”

“No!” Hinor screamed, trying to run up to the King. However, the sight of the glinting Falconeye in Gestarin’s hand was enough to keep him at bay. “That will kill him!”

“Let it happen, Hinor.” Trilin said gruffly. “It’s the only way justice can be served.”

“No, my lord!” Hinor yelled, risking his health to come closer to Gestarin, who stood staring at the two men. “Let Trilin have him. He can have him, and I’ll take the mule, just don’t kill him!”

Gestarin stood still, Blade raised, for another moment. Tears were welling up in Hinor’s eyes, and he had fallen on his knees. Trilin stood behind him, face grim, arms folded. Gestarin sighed and pressed his Blades his together, sheathing them in his arm.

“The stallion AND the mule shall go to the man who raised the former.” He proclaimed before looking intently at Hinor. “Come and reclaim your property, and take the mule as compensation for being required to sacrifice your animal’s life.” Hinor cried with joy, rushing past Gestarin to the gray stallion, who nuzzled his master’s face with affection. Trilin’s arms and jaw had dropped to the ground in shock.

“Your majesty!” He cried. “What has stirred this idiotic decision? The animal is mine!”

“No, Goodman.” Gestarin growled. “No man, raising his animal from childhood, would allow it to be killed ridiculously in the name of justice.” He pointed at Hinor, who cried and wiped his tears in the stallions mane. “This man quite obviously had the better connection with the animal.”

“But…” Trilin spluttered helplessly. Gestarin shook his head.

“Guards,” He called, gesturing at Trilin. His guard snapped forward at his order. “Take this man to the dungeon for a few days. Let him think about his decision. Perhaps it will instill in him a bit of integrity.”

“No!” Trilin screamed, but Gestarin’s men grabbed his arms and dragged him away.

“Oh, and Trilin?” Gestarin called as he was taken out the door. “Don’t ever take a case as ridiculous as this before me again, unless YOU want to be the one cut in half.”

Trilin’s screams echoed through the hall as the doors slammed shut. Hinor led his animals up to the throne as Gestarin ascended the dais and sat down.

“Thank you, your majesty.” He said humbly, bowing deeply. “I am in your debt.”

“You are nothing of the sort, Goodman.” Gestarin said. “Justice leaves no debts.”

“I?” Hinor scoffed. “I am not the goodman here, your majesty. I am merely a farmer. You, however, are a good man. The best I have ever seen.” With that, he led his animals out of the hall.

Gestarin sighed, but he smiled all the same. He supposed that the gratitude of the people was what kept him going. That, and his throne was rather comfortable. If he was going to spend hours upon hours listening to people complain, at least he had the world’s most comfortable chair to lounge upon.

“That was well handled, your majesty.” Vixin noted, stepping closer to the throne. “Masterly thought of.”

“Thank you, Viceroy.” Gestarin beamed. “I certainly try.”

“I had one question, though.” Vixin mused. “Would you really have cut the animal in half?”

“When you encounter a situation like that, Viceroy, let me know how you would answer that question.” Gestarin said with a smile. Vixin laughed. “Now, do you have a report from Junar?”

“I have a small bit of information, my lord.” Vixin said. Gestarin raised an eyebrow at the familiar greeting, but said nothing. Vixin pulled out the ruby Prism from his trouser pocket and handed it to the king. “What can you notice about the markings on the gem?”

Gestarin rolled the stone in his hand, studying the runes. “I can see nothing unusual, Viceroy.” He sighed at last. “What am I supposed to see?”

“One of my contacts is a jeweler at the Junar National Bank.” Vixin said, discreetly leaving the fact that Rajinii was a counterfeiter out of his statement. “He gave me some information that I found extremely useful.”

“Well, say on!” Gestarin said, a little annoyed. “Please, Vixin, please do not mince words. All the other lords do that.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Vixin said unapologetically. “I merely wanted to explain that my information was from a reliable source.” He pointed at the gemstone. “Do you see the scratches next to the glyphs?” Gestarin nodded, holding the gem up to the light. Vixin continued to relay the information that Rajinii had told him, explaining how the gem represented payment from a very powerful enemy.

“The Junarian Imperial Houses?” Gestarin said, paling slightly. “Why would they want to kill me?”

“Indeed, that is the question, my lord.” Vixin said gravely. “Why would the most powerful aristocratic houses wish to murder the king of their allies? I believe the answer will tell us quite a bit about the true state of the peace we have.”

“Indeed.” Gestarin said. He continued to turn the gem in his hand, watching the light bounce off of the polished surface.

“My lord, I would suggest that you go to Junar yourself.” Vixin said after a moment. “It would be much easier for me to watch you if you were by my side.”

“It is a bit difficult to protect me if I’m a hundred leagues away, isn’t it?” Gestarin said, amused. “Very well. On the morrow, we depart for-”

The doors flew open with a loud clatter, and a man in opulent purple robes strode into the room, trailed by a dozen attendants or so. He walked proudly up to the dais, not even pausing to bow before his king.

“My lord!” Highlord Yrit bellowed, as if Gestarin was infirm old man who could not hear anything quieter than a shout. “I am offended at your decision to ignore my proposal!”

“I’m sorry for your hurt feelings, Highlord.” Gestarin growled, immensely irritated. “But I did not realize that, when I make a royal decision, I was supposed to consider the emotional state of my advisers.” Vixin tried unsuccessfully to hide a chuckle as Yrit’s face deepened to a shade of magenta hitherto unseen.

“Your majesty.” Yrit seethed. “My proposal would protect us from a rebel nation that seeks to overthrow the great kingdom of Glausiania. Would you give up the safety of your people for a speck of pride?” Murmuring began between the attendants and the courtiers, each aghast at Yrit’s severe breach of conduct.

“Highlord Yrit,” Gestarin said, quietly but forcefully. “Are you seeking to tell the king what he should and should not do? Are you accusing me of endangering my people because of my pride?” The twittering of the courtiers and Yrit’s attendants ceased immediately, the tension rising to the point that a sword could cut through it easily. Highlord Yrit, however, did not back down.

“I am not telling you anything, your majesty.” He said, equally as quiet and forceful. “I am merely doing what you appointed me to do: advise. And I am advising you to take over the Quasexan mongrels now, before we are all dressed in ridiculous sandrobes and thinking the dust is a way of life.”

“Stop!” Gestarin shouted as Vixin rushed forward, hand on his Blade. Vixin was breathing heavily through clenched teeth, his hateful eyes fixed in the arrogant man standing before him.

“Yes, restrain yourself, dog.” Yrit sneered at Vixin. “You already do not belong here. Don’t make me kill you on your enemy’s soil.” Vixin rushed forward slightly before being seized by Gestarin’s guards and restrained. Vixin seemed to scarcely be able to reign in the fire burning in his heart, and his shaking hands confirmed it.

“Highlord, one more statement like that and I will have a cell prepared for you in the deepest, wettest part of my dungeons.” Gestarin said flatly, glaring at the nobleman. “Might I remind you that you yourself have the appearance of a Quasexan.”

“You cannot do that.” Yrit scoffed. “Such an act would be an insult to the church. I am, after all, a Harvester Lord.”

“That can be easily remedied.” Vixin hissed, fighting against the men holding him back. “I can make you a dead Lord if you wish.”

“Vixin, enough!” Gestarin roared at the Viceroy. “I will not have my throne room turned into the site of a tavern brawl. You will calm yourself now!” He turned his head back to the sneering Highlord. “Are you questioning my authority, Yrit? Because, as you know, such an act would go against the Harvester Codes. You cannot seek to overthrow your government, just as I cannot seek to quash the Diradis.” He narrowed his eyes. “No matter how appealing it sounds.”

“Oh, I would never do that my lord.” Yrit said, and Gestarin thought he could detect a hint of sarcasm. “I am merely reminding you of your own hindrance of the Harvester Code. Seek to silence me, and suddenly you may find yourself without Blade or subjects.” His cape whirled as he spun on his heel and began walking out. “Consider my words, your majesty! Someday you may find yourself being butchered by Quasexan barbarians.” The doors clanged shut as Yrit and his entourage exited the room.

Vixin heaved a deep breath as Gestarin’s guards released him. His eyes were still filled with hatred, his hand still strayed to his wrist, itching to draw his Blade and fight his enemy.

“Do not let his words linger, Viceroy.” Gestarin said, waving Vixin toward the throne. “Yrit is a conniver and a schemer, and his words will always turn your stomach if you let him.”

“He is a dangerous man, your majesty.” Vixin seethed, looking angrily at the doors that Yirt had just exited. “He is capable of many things.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Gestarin agreed. “That’s why I keep him so close, and why he still holds his office of Harvester Lord. The closer he is to me, and the more power he has, the easier it is for me to make sure that he does not do anything idiotic.” Vixin nodded, his knuckles white from clenching his fists.

“I’m not sure keeping him and me so close at the same time is safe, your majesty.” He said quietly. “You may find one of us murdered in our beds before the month is out.”

“That is why we are leaving, Viceroy.” Gestarin said with a slight smile. “We’re going to leave for Junar in the morning. I want to find out why the Junarian Imperial Houses want me dead.”