The Stolen Crown

Chapter 3: For an Answer

The cold winds blew against the loose folds of a cloak, as the figure that wore it moved with heavy feet around the structures of the village. His pace was a quick one, only ever made slow when the winds tried to rob him of his balance and sap him of his strength. Though for each gust and the howl that accompanied it, he marched on, past the structures and the warmth that slowly left the corpse of the King.

"Damned physician," Istvan grumbled to himself, kicking the small pile of snow he came across. Heavy breaths forced the air from his lungs and into the night with a grumble. He bit his nail, standing just beyond the rays of light from one of the structures, before quickly throwing his hand through the air in frustration. "This is a disaster. A God damned disaster. Stuck in this one-horse village with nothing to do other than wait. This is—"

Before another word could be uttered, a voice interrupted him, reaching out beyond the light. "What seems to be the problem, Istvan? Can't think of a good plan?" The figure said from the shadows with the whisper of a snake.

Istvan's eyes narrowed, trying to make shape of the source of the voice within the shadow. "Who's there?"

Approaching like the winter's cold, a figure slowly emerged into the light. The silver hilt of a sheathed dagger was the first thing to reveal itself, as the shimmer and gleam of the finely crafted instrument demanded attention. It held the eye, but as the wielder stepped forward and took shape, it lay second to him, though only by nail. His hair was curly, his posture lousy and the slight inclination of crossed eyes seemed to mark his vision. What features he had were far from pleasant, whether superficial or deep, though they were productive.

"Fodor Gorgein," Istvan said with a hiss. "What the hell is your ugly self doing here?"

"What has you so flustered?" His revealed company asked with a laugh that ignored the words just spoken. "You look like you just stepped into something."

"The King is dead," Istvan replied in anger, protruding his jaw and grinding his teeth.

"So?" Fodor asked indifferently. "People die all the time. You never get worked up about it. Well, generally speaking."

"This is different," Istvan replied. "This is a King... This is the King."

"We have had Kings before him," Fodor said. "Will have many more after."

"He was a good King," Istvan explained. "He was a man that knew the threat of the Ottomans. He was a man that knew that strength was needed. And he knew to support us."

"We still have a Queen," Fodor replied, though by design striking a nerve. "She already has a daughter. Besides, good might be a stretch."

A roll of Istvan's eyes began his reply, as a scoff of frustration left his lips. "Don't give me that. You know why that will not work. No, that will not work. Not at all."

"You're really going to make me ask?" Fodor inquired with a slight laugh. "Come now, we all know what it is you do. You always have a plan. You always have some scheme up your sleeves. So, what is it? You're among a friend, my friend."

Istvan held a long stare at the self-proclaimed comrade before he finally revealed his teeth with a scowl. "Weren't you the one that saw some of my wealth taken away a few years back, my friend? With Sigismund."

"You sure it was me, it could have been anyone," Fodor said, as he turned his eyes up to the sky.

"It was you, I am sure of it," Istvan replied.

"Indeed, I was," Fodor calmly admitted with an indifferent roll of his shoulders and a smile. "Indeed, I was. Though, I should remind you that you were just one among many."

"A means to an end then?" Istvan asked.

"A means to an end," Fodor replied with a nod. "Took out the wealth and authority of many lesser men who were in the way. You, along with a few others simply got pulled along."

"And gained support of the last King..." Istvan added. "Well, now it would be the second to last King. Must be difficult for you falling so far out of favor now. Especially with the Queen, who never much liked you."

"Well, the wealth that was taken was used in part to secure the power to fight the Ottomans," Fodor said, as he leaned against the closest wall and crossed his arms. "That should make you happy, but I think you already knew that. But, as you say, yes, I have some concerns on my mind, especially with the succession. She never did like me, don't know why."

"Probably because you're as ugly as a shit covered shovel," Istvan replied, as he moved to turn his back to his company and stare down the darkened path he had come. "I know you're there. Come out!" He ordered, as he watched and listened, waiting for a flutter of any shadows within the dark.

"Thought you were being watched?" Fodor asked with a grin.

Istvan slowly turned his attention back to his company with a narrow gaze. "I may be blunt, but I am not stupid. I gave you the chance to put that dagger in my back and reveal what might have been hidden. As well as scare anyone who might have been listening."

"So, then you are satisfied?" Fodor asked. "Able finally to speak your plan?"

"No," Istvan answered, a sinister smile stretching his lips. "I will not tell you the details of it now. But I will say that we must gather power and work to steer the Kingdom down the right path. A path that sees our interests secured."

With those words cast, Istvan began to walk away, though like before, Fodor's voice reached out to him from the shadows. "So, you do have a plan. Good to know. Let me know when you want to tell me."