The Thief Maker (ON HOLD)

Power

Power

Irid had known the Count her whole life. She was his daughter. She was also his wife.

         He was married a time ago, in the early years of his ascension to power. She was a controlling woman, always wanting to have a say, always involved. Not his type. When Lamorr was being taken, she wished to have a dual monarchy. A Count and his Countess. The Count, however, was not in favor of such a plan. He waved the thought aside, and his wife aside too, killing her in bed one night so he would retain all the power the city had to offer. He did not like opposition.

         To later ensure that he would retain his absolute claim, he wed his daughter. No other House or family could try and take the city from under him with fealty won. They had no claim, no female heir wed to the mighty Count. It was his, all his.

         “Damn the city!” cursed the Count heatedly. “Damn them all!”

         He was lying in the silk arms of his bed, the ruby-red fabric ruffled like great waves out at sea. A moist cloth drank the blood from his wound sustained at the Reckoning. Irid knew he’d never forget it. He’d use it over the people, hang it like a consequence above their heads.

His thin abrasions and deep cuts had been cleaned sufficiently while his clothes had luckily escaped the mess. Irid knew he would have killed them all himself if his robes had been dirtied. “Curse them,” he hissed. “Curse those foul beasts into the very fires of hell!” His thin, grim face flushed red as fire as he continued to rant, stream puffing from his nostrils like a bull.

         “They are your people,” Irid interrupted, trying to calm her father. She dazzled on the side of the bed in a corset of rose and violet. “They bow to you.  You are their ruler. No one else.”

         “They do not bow!” screamed the Count, rising in anger. “They rebel! They throw rocks at me! They defy me!” He threw the cloth covering his wound across the vast room. “There are others, mark my words. There are others who call themselves count.”

         Irid urged him to lye back down, pushing at his hairy chest. “Rest father. You are in no fit shape to scream and shout.” She rose from the bed and swept off along the glossed marble floor for another cloth.

         “How can I rest when there is chaos in the streets?” he said, gripping the sheets. “How can I lay here while the city revolts outside these very walls?”

         “You must,” said Irid, returning with a warm, damp cloth. “It is a price you now must pay as the Count. One of the many you must pay for power.”

         Her father grumbled and glowered at her, sitting upright against the lavishly adorned headrest. Irid fixed the cloth onto his forehead.

         “Power does not come with prices,” the Count said grumpily. “Power comes with power.” He stretched his long neck. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

         “Of course, father, I was wrong to question you,” said Irid, turning from the bed and gliding across the room towards a great window. From the height of the manor, through the shadow and fog, she could see the whole of the city, down to the gates and onwards to the black lake. It looked dead.

         “Have you heard,” called the Count. “There’s talk amongst those rebels. Say this city should be ruled by them, the people!” He chuckled. “They say a corrupt government is no government at all! They make to overthrow me, not just challenge me anymore. And when they do so, they will instill a… democracy they call it. They hold an election they say, and vote for a new count, a count the people want.” He laughed haughtily and rose from his bed, and then his face grew serious.

         “I’ve seen it in the papers,” he said, holding a piece of folded parchment as he walked up to Irid. She was staring out through the window, rain pattering against the glass. “Those underground presses have been printing these all to the people, spreading insane notions through their heads. My rule is failing, my wife,” he said at last. “I must end this. I must kill them all. Including that cursed Garen! With his tricks and a games. When I finally catch him, I will beat him until he cries for mercy, until he shines with his own blood!”

         He turned quickly, forehead bleeding profusely. “Broel!” he called, voice like thunder through the lofty ceiling. In strode the Captain of the Watch, bedecked in the customary garb, his intricate helm under his arm. “The Watch has work to do,” the Count said. “Rally up all your men, Broel. Assemble them through the streets, markets, and squares. I want spies stationed at every inn, tavern, and pub and I want guards patrolling the rooftops and ten more at every gate leaving this city. In the Court, I want a mass of twenty outside every manor and thirty inside each with forty in mine.”

The Count swept over to an inkwell and quill and scribbled across a piece of parchment. “To add to the damned Iron Wall. Decree number one hundred and fifteen. All soldiers of the Guard and Watch must be quartered in every home of the city. All who fail to oblige will be publically hanged.” He skipped a line and continued writing. “Decree number one hundred and sixteen. Every Reckoning, a ten taren fee must be paid for entrance. All who do not oblige will be branded with iron twice along the forearm. Decree number one hundred and seventeen,” he began, now screaming. “All citizens found on the streets will be submitted to a questioning. All who fail to oblige will be hanged.” He handed the piece of parchment to Broel. “After you’ve burned that into the iron, you will accompany me at every waking second of the day.”

The Captain of the Watch bowed and bound off through the arched doorway. The Count dipped the quill back in the inkwell and turned to Irid with a grin. In a flash, he had her in his arms. He grabbed his daughter’s neck and yanked it to his face, kissing her lips as she cried. “The city will be ours now. There will be no more talks of silly elections or democracy. There will be no rebellions against me again! They will submit, they must.”

He tilted his head. “Then there will only be you and me. How fun!”

         Irid’s scream could be heard all throughout the city.

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