Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 23: Relocation

{It's easy to kill. Killing for a  cause though is much more difficult. The unfortunate circumstance is that one cannot do the latter without first doing the former. I suppose I should consider myself one step closer then.}

-an excerpt from the personal journals of Brand Golbeggar, heir to House Golbeggar

"Blackglass." Uncle Raylein twirled the dagger in his hands, turning the vile weapon over and over, it's edges glinting from the nearby firelight. "A most dangerous weapon for the likes of you and I."

Brand sat in the middle of the many dining chairs sprawled out before the massive ironwood table in the dining hall. After his incident with the thief, his uncle had thought it wise to gather there. To strengthen their numbers as he had said, but deep down he knew another reason as well. It was also next to the kitchen.

"Here you are, my love." Brand's mother set a plate of salted rye cookies before him, a glass of warm milk placed beside. Despite his lack of appetite, what with killing a man and all, he picked up one of the cookies and took a gracious nibble.

"Thank you, mother." said a voice that didn't sound like him. It was small. Weak. Distant.

Brand's mother crooned a lock of his hair and tried to smile, the type you'd give to the sick or dying, before she shuffled away, her shadow trailing after.

"This man was no ordinary thief," Uncle Raylein continued. He stepped towards the table and placed the Blackglass knife down, its edge rattling off in a soft clink. "He knew his business, knew to wear armor that would be useless to us, knew how to break into our home, a tower of the nobility no less."

"But how?" Brand's mother asked, clutching the serving tray to her chest.

"Isn't it not obvious, my dear sister? Just look at the state of your husband's affairs!." Raylein paused, his hands behind his back, thumb working over forefinger. "This home is a disgrace! You've a single cook, a handful of unpaid guardsmen and a servant for every floor. Which might I add, is only two." He held up the same number of fingers for emphasis. "The house of Golbeggar is a rotting corpse of what it once was. A shambling husk of poor decision after poor decision. Why you chose to marry that buffoon is beyond me."

Brand's mother narrowed her eyes, her pressing smile waning somewhat. "A fact that was made quite clear to me after the wedding, brother. Regardless, I had no say in the matter. It was our mother, after all, who signed the papers."

"An even greater buffoon in my opinion."

Brand was barely listening. He kept his focus on the plate, his hand mechanically feeding bits of cookie into his mouth. The milk remained untouched, it's steaming surface slowly wilting away, growing cold. All he could think about was what had happened at the forge. His arms moving up and down, up and down, the knife gliding in and out of the thief like butter. It had been so easy killing him. Like playing chess. Like bending silver.

"But we are getting off topic." Brand blinked. Uncle Raylein was looking at him. "The fact remains that the security of our dear boy is in jeopardy. The thief knew he was connected to Magnus' plans in some way. Why else would he bring him along?"

Brand felt his mother's eyes slide towards him. "Do you know why?" she asked.

He placed the half eaten cookie down on the plate, wondering what to say? What could he say? "It might have happened when father took me to the Stelecaster moot. He told everyone there that I was making the Golden Heart in exchange for your seat, uncle."

The frown on Uncle Raylein's face twisted back with horror. "Everyone? In front of the Stelecasters? The other houses?"

"Yes."