Cards Reshuffled

Your family can be your greatest support in times of trouble. Not everybody is that fortunate though. Your family also knows you well enough to hurt you as nobody else can, after all.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Anomen found himself walking more and more slowly as he passed through the familiar streets of the Government District of Athkatla. The warm sun that made the marble buildings sparkle, the gentle breeze in the air, none of it eased his heart even the slightest. Every street, every house reminded him of things. He crossed the Government Park, ignoring the flowers, the flowing fountains and the richly dressed nobles who were taking walks there. Moira used to love coming here. Not to show herself off like some of the ladies do, though she was pretty enough to rival any of them. Just to be free for a short while, and out of our father’s house.

He passed a large estate, an old and elegant mansion made from stone of a warm reddish-brown color. The Firecam estate. Moira enjoyed the company of Lady Maria I believe. She always said that she was a very nice woman. Moira…He bit his lip, trying to hold the tears back. She was dead, his sister was dead. How? How could the gods allow such a thing to happen, a virtuous young woman with all of her life ahead of her? How could she be allowed to die when evil villains lived to a ripe old age? It’s not fair.

Here was the Jysstev estate now. Anomen didn’t know the current Lord Jysstev except by sight, the Delryn’s weren’t a prominent family in high society these days. All he knew was that Moira had mentioned in her latest letter that the man had just married a young bride. Not her latest letter, no. Her last letter. The realization hit him, his chest contracting painfully. She will never write to me again. Never.

Anomen blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision, and then he saw it, right in front of him. A green door, the brass knocker shaped like the head of a bull. The green paint was faded, flaking here and there. It had been a long time since his father had spent more money on the estate than was necessary to keep the roof from falling in. The bushes leading up to the door were unkempt, rotting leaves were scattered everywhere rather than neatly swept away. He could see that the windows on the lower floor were closely shuttered, and shivered as he stared at the green door. At that moment he would do anything in the world rather than having to walk inside. His father, Lord Cor Delryn would be there, waiting for him, like an old dragon shut inside his cave, hoarding his treasures. Or hoarding his bottles, I should say. Taking a deep breath, Anomen forced himself to walk up to the door, step by step. He owed it to Moira. He hadn’t been home in time to save her, but this he could still do for her, and he would. Still, as his fingers convulsively closed around the knocker he wished that it had been a real dragon inside. That would be far easier to handle.

The man who opened the door was old, older than Anomen remembered him. Herven had been the butler at the Delryn estate for as long as Anomen could recall, and now his back was bent, his white hair reduced to a fringe around his ears, and his shoulders stooped. With visible joy he greeted the squire, welcoming him home.

“Thank you, Herven,” Anomen said, trying to keep calm and collected, though he wanted nothing more than to sprint out the door. “Though the reason for it is a horrible one. Tell me…what has happened to my sister?”

The old man’s face turned sad, and he briefly blew his nose. “Oh, it was terrible, sir, terrible!” he said in a quavering voice. “It happened a week ago to this day, and I was the one who found her. The poor young lady…she had such a good heart, I don’t know how anybody could have done such a thing.” He wrung his hands. “Your father wishes to speak with you first, sir, and it is his place to tell you first. He is in the sitting room, resting. But if you wish, come and speak with me afterwards, and I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

Anomen nodded. It was true, he would have to speak with his father first, much as he loathed the very thought of it. For a few seconds he thought of asking Herven whether his father was badly drunk, but then decided against it. Cor usually was, and now that Anomen had come this far he couldn’t bear the thought of coming back later. He wanted this over and done with, and so he headed off in search of his father, a painful knot of anticipatory dread twisting his stomach. Grow up, Anomen. You are no longer a child. He cannot harm you. But that was a lie, and he knew it fully well. True, his father might no longer be able to give him a beating, but Cor Delryn had other ways. Ways and ways.

It had been a long time since Anomen had last set foot within his father’s house, and he was shocked and saddened to see how rundown it had become. With the grimy windows shuttered it was dark and gloomy, but he could still see the dust on the floors that had been spotless while his mother was alive. And more than dust, there were sticky stains here and there. Anomen’s mouth set in a grim line as he imagined the cause of those stains. He could see it in front of him, his drunken father reeling from room to room, now and then taking deep swigs from the bottle in his hand, spilling as he went. Ranting about his misfortunes most probably, in that whiny, aggressive voice that Anomen so loathed. He also noticed that there was far less furniture than he remembered, the walls were bare, stripped of the paintings that used to hang there, and as he passed an antique cupboard he recalled from his childhood he noticed that the silver that used to be displayed there was all gone.

Moira…my poor sister, living in this dismal squalor. Living here with him. This is all my fault. I should have taken you away from here long since, letting him rot and fester alone. But even as he told himself that, he knew that it wouldn’t have worked. He had asked Moira to leave, more than once, but she had always said no, and refused to even speak of it. She wouldn’t even tell him why.

“So, the prodigal son returns. Heir to his mother’s foolishness as always.” The voice was harsh, hoarse with years of drunkenness, and brimming with hostility. Cor Delryn sat sunken down in a ratty old armchair in front of the fireplace, clutching a dark bottle as tenderly as a mother might hold her newborn babe. Anomen froze on the threshold to the room, his attention fixed on his father. Cor had once been a strong, muscular man, much like Anomen himself. Now his skin was sallow and unhealthy, his brow glistening with sweat. His eyes, once the same dark blue as Anomen’s own were dull, sunken deep and rimmed with dark circles. His once brown hair was almost entirely gray, his face etched deeply with lines of anger and bitterness, and his once strong body was flabby. Yet, despite his weakened state, there seemed to be a dark and malicious aura hanging about him, one that seeped directly into Anomen’s soul, igniting his fury. His father had always been very good at that.

“Speak not of my mother, drunkard!” he challenged, spitting out the angry words. “You were never worthy of being her husband!”

Cor laughed briefly, a condescending laugh. “Yet I was, and your father as well. Never forget that, boy! Your mother would still be alive if you children weren't such a handful.”

The accusation, unfounded, ridiculous and grossly unfair as it was, still hit Anomen like a blow to his stomach, making it difficult for him to breathe. Cor would always do this, throw the most hurtful insults he could think of in Anomen’s face, blaming him for anything and everything. He had thought that he had got used to it and was able to cope with it, that he no longer cared at all about anything his father might say. But no. It still hurt, just as much as ever, and the fact that his father was able to hurt him was a painful humiliation in itself. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to breathe easily despite the throbbing pain in his temples and the black rage that filled his heart. I am Anomen Delryn, squire and soon to be knight of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. I will not slay my father. “Shut your mouth, father,” he spat, hoping that his voice didn’t tremble. “We've had this conversation before and I've not the patience to listen to it again.”

Cor staggered to his feet, his red and angry face and bloodshot eyes suddenly inches away from Anomen’s own. Anomen just had the time to recognize the stench of old vomit and sour wine before his father’s fist struck him full in the face and pain exploded in his cheek. Memories assaulted him at the same time, memories of other beatings long ago. Memories of cowering at his father’s feet, whimpering with fear and pain, memories of crying alone in his room, his body covered with welts and bruises. Most of all, memories of the mind-numbing fear and helplessness, of being weak and powerless to defend himself. “You will listen to what ever I choose to tell you, Anomen”, Cor snarled. “Respect your father, knightling. I am still the man of this family and you will obey me!”

Anomen clutched his swollen cheek, his eyes wide as he stared at his father. For an instant he was that frightened child again, and his father wasn’t a pitiful drunkard but a dangerous giant, powerful and deadly. “Yes, father... I lost my temper and I apologize.” He hated himself for it, for the tremulous note in his voice, and even more for the tears that tried to escape his eyes.

Cor gave him a satisfied look, then sat down again to take another drink. “It took you long enough to get here. It wouldn't hurt you to come and see your father now and again.”

Anomen chose not to reply to this, but instead inquired about what exactly had happened to his sister. Amidst a stream of curses, Cor told him, although the account was fairly garbled. He seemed firmly convinced that the culprit was Saerk the Calimshite, his old business rival. The two men had been enemies for years, and although Cor had initially been the more powerful one his drinking habits had made him unfit to manage the family business. These days Saerk’s mercantile business was blooming to the same extent that Cor’s was withering, and the hatred between the two was still as strong as it had ever been. Still Anomen felt puzzled. Undercutting prices, yes. Sabotaging business deals, yes. Spreading nasty rumors to scare off customers, yes. All this and more he would believe of Saerk, and of his father too. But murder? “But why would he kill Moira?” he tried to ask. “She has nothing to do with your enmity.”

“Do you understand nothing?” his father screamed, his face shining with sweat. “He killed her because he could! For years I embarrassed him amongst the merchants, undercut his prices and stole his customers. When my business failed he had a monopoly on the Calimshan shipping routes. He would not be happy until I had nothing. By the end, Moira was all that I had, and now he's taken her too.”

Of course. It is all about you, isn’t it? “Where were the guards?” Anomen asked, trying to keep his temper. “Why was she not protected?”

“The guards left months ago. I had no money to pay them with. Soon I will lose my house as well. Saerk has taken all of it... all of your mother's and sister's things...”

Dull bitterness filled Anomen’s heart as he watched the pathetic man who was his father. “He didn't take it, father. YOU lost it... you lost it...” And I am happy mother didn’t have to live to see this day, didn’t have to face the loss of her daughter.

Cor’s mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, and when he next spoke he did it slowly and deliberately, watching his son in order to better judge the effect of his words. “I lost it because you abandoned your family. If you hadn't run away, Moira would still be alive. You should have been here to protect her! To save her from the brigands!”

Once more Anomen felt himself deflate, his soul beneath his father’s baleful eyes like a naked child in a burning desert. Moira…he’s right. It is my fault. I should have been here. I failed you…I failed…”I'm sorry. I... I did not know...” His voice sounded weak and pitiful to his ears, broken and defeated. As I am. A useless, worthless thing. Worthless. Worthless.

There was an unholy satisfaction in Cor Delryn’s eyes by now, and a glint of triumph as well. “You should have been here, Anomen. Never forget that! It is too late to save her but your work is not yet finished, Anomen.”

Not finished? How can he say such a thing…Moira…Moira is dead!

“She can be avenged, Anomen,” his father went on, his voice soft and wheedling. “You must kill Saerk and his son. It is the only way that Moira's spirit can be at rest.”

Kill Saerk? His son? I…I want Moira’s killer brought to justice but…is this truly the right thing to do? I can’t think…I can’t decide…Trying to gather his confused thoughts together Anomen cleared his throat. “I must see Moira's remains first, father. It will take but a moment.”

Cor frowned, and he looked annoyed, but he spoke calmly enough. “Go then. She was cleansed on the pyre and her ashes are kept in an urn by the pool. It was the place that Moira loved most of all.”

Anomen bowed briefly to his father, and then left the room, his mind in turmoil. Never in his life had he more wished for somebody to guide him, to tell him what was the right thing to do. But he had nobody, and this was one test he would have to face alone. He could only pray that he would pass it.