Beyond the Pale

The Man of Two Masters

It was just going to be one of those days.

It took some considerable effort to stifle a yawn, but Janus Castorius' conditioning stopped him from giving in to the temptation to just let it come—not when he was standing at attention. His eye caught a young, pretty girl with thick chestnut hair standing among the gathering crowd, and he found himself inadvertently smiling at her. The girl met his gaze but quickly looked away, doubtless afraid to let her eyes linger on a man of his position.

Castorius sighed quietly. He was not used to being regarded in that fashion.

The morning had broken sunny and clear, and looked to turn out precisely how he generally liked them. A clear sky loomed above, and the balmy summer breeze gently tousled his curly flaxen hair. Had he been free to pick his present conditions, he would have doubtless chosen to start the day slow, waking early yet lingering in bed for a good long while. Perhaps, if he'd had company, he would've gone for a little tussle, or, if he were by himself, enjoyed the simple pleasure of stretching his long limbs on the comfy bed, letting the sleep of the night slowly ebb away until finally rising to do some exercises.

Then he would saunter off to the kitchen and break his fast with perhaps some fresh bacon—fried crispy—accompanied by a couple of fried eggs—sunny side up or perhaps just over easy—before he would embark outdoors on a leisurely walk in the fresh mountain air.

By no means were those typical conditions for a man of his profession, but Castorius had learned long ago that a man's own will and determination to forward his own position made all the difference in the world as to where in it, and in what sort of position, he'd find himself. A man simply had to take what he rightfully knew belonged to him, and take whatever risk needed to accomplish that—an attitude which, Castorius could testify, demanded the sufficient strength of nature to accept the possibility of coming up with zero in the aftermath.

And yet he had never considered himself a gambling man.

All the same, as it was, he'd not had those kinds of luxuries today, but had instead been torn up from his hard bed all too early in the cold, artless confines of The Castle Dour—an apt name if there ever was one—and for his breakfast had had to settle for some gray slop of a porridge, more water than it was grain, and a measly piece of stale bread—the kind of feed all too familiar to anyone like himself, serving in the Imperial armed forces.

The morning's program wasn't particularly to his liking, either. He found these barbaric assemblages distasteful—to put the matter diplomatically—and though they aroused his earnest disdain at the best of times, it was today's proceedings in particular that really threatened to cramp his style.

Castorius sighed, more loudly this time. He stood in a stern pose, hands behind his back, and surveyed the plebs slowly gathering in the plaza. All of them eager for a reminder of their own mortality, no doubt, while at the same time reveling in the sweet comfort of the fact that today was not their turn. One needed, Castorius supposed, the occasional evidence of the misery of others as reminder of one's own fortune.

Such as it was.

The expression he wore conformed to the last detail to the polished professional countenance of soldierly wariness, but in his case it contained a fair sprinkle of genuine misgiving as well. He switched his attention from the loathsome throng to the comrades in arms standing around him, hands similarly tugged behind them and, like him, their faces seasoned with grim. He caught the eye of Roggvir, perhaps his best friend in Solitude, who quickly averted his gaze. This was no moment for a show of camaraderie, it seemed.

Soon the audience was looking like a full assembly; faces at once curious, eager, and somewhat fearful all around. Armed imperial soldiers stood around at the sidelines, keeping order, eyeing the crowd with assertive suspicion. The steel shield of one them caught the light of the morning sun crept up low in the eastern sky, and reflected it straight into Castorius' eyes, forcing him to squint. He wished he could have just freed his hand to block the nuisance, but kept his pose as rigid as ever. In this he was well practiced.