Brigstad's Disciples

Sad music flowed throughout Corvin, following the beloved lord's funeral procession. The bright sun and chirping birds offended most of the city's occupants, but they matched Vallum's mood perfectly. As an only child, Vallum was set to become the new lord. Only his mother's wailing could dampen his cheer.

Naturally, he wore a proper expression of sorrow as he trod behind the carriage. No one understood his poor relationship with his father. They didn't know about the snide comments or disappointed looks. Nothing Vallum did could please his father. He was always "too weak" and "too small" to be of use. After 23 years of pain he was free; free to rule, free to live. No one could hold him back.

Those were Vallum's thoughts for the rest of the week, through all of the official ceremonies he attended. His mind was drawn elsewhere, however, when he received news of who killed his father.

It was well known that he was assassinated, and that there was a large group of people behind the assassination. They hadn't known anything about the group, however; its motives, its size, its goals... Then, when they were close to the point of giving up, the spy network followed an unlikely lead. They discovered that the group was a cult; they worshipped Brigstad, the god of revenge. They started out as a small group, calling themselves Brigstad's Disciples. Over the past few years their numbers had mysteriously tripled, and their purpose went from ensuring that people paid for their crimes to trying to dismantle the nobility. After they finished in Corvin they had plans to move onto other cities, eventually making their way to the capital.

"That means they'll be targeting you next, my lord," Narmer, the head of the spies, said, brushing his bright red hair away from his face. It may not be the best feature for a profession of sneaking, but he made it work.

"Obviously," Vallum snapped, dropping into a chair. "What do you propose we do about it?" He set his hands on the arms of his chair, fingers automatically moving to their grooves. Scratching nervously at the wood, he realized how short lived his rule could be.

Narmer sighed impatiently. "I've gathered this information through a long chain of people, enough that the original source has been lost. We don't know any members of Brigstad's Disciples. There isn't anything to do."

Vallum added more force behind his scratching. "Then find them. It isn't a difficult concept."

"Of course, my lord." Narmer said coldly. He turned and stalked from the room without so much as a nod in Vallum's direction, let alone a proper bow. Did he give Vallum's father so much difficulty?

Left to seeth, Vallum continued carving furrows into his chair's arms. He had expected to finally have the respect he craved from those around him with his father gone, but that obviously was not to be the case.

Vallum stood and stormed to face a mirror, one of the many in the palace. Seeing his reflection reminded him of why he was mocked. A weak body could easily be associated with a weak ruler. His short stature did nothing to help. Limp blond hair framed his thin face, and though he kept it neatly trimmed, he was often compared to a gutter rat.

I look like a beggar. A starving beggar lord, easily controlled. Vallum stared into his own eyes, and made an oath. I will assert my authority. I will be firm. Firm but fair.

A grim smile twisted his thin lips. Full of confidence, Vallum decided it would be a good time to visit his mother, Lady Hilla. Finding her proved to be no difficulty; she was in the temple. It had become her favorite haunt over the past few weeks. For once the whispers and stares had no impact as he walked through the streets. The temple rose in front of him, stone and gold marking the place of the gods.