The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Mothlenor

Mothlenor's footsteps were light and quick as he walked the halls of the castle. The normally busy corridors were nearly empty, save for a handful of young King's Guards milling around the Great Hall and the odd servant or two. The knights, barely out of boyhood, looked awed and a little lost. They had probably never been inside the castle proper, and it showed on their boyish faces. As for the servants, mostly women, they walked around in silent shock, their eyes red rimmed and expressions grim. Mothlenor was pleased with quiet air Etiria had taken on, but the atmosphere could do with an adjustment.

He rounded a corner, nearly knocking over a slim woman in the process. He caught her elbow, preventing her fall, but only just.

It was another servant girl, this one carrying a metal oil decanter, it's long neck curved slightly, and a small flint striker. The lamp above their heads was unlit, but a drop of fresh oil clung to the outside of the thick glass.

Evening already?

The girl let out a startled gasp, stepping away from him quickly. "My Lord, I-I'm sorry. I didn't hear your approach or I would have—"

"It's alright." Mothlenor raised a hand to quiet the girl. "No harm was done, though we might be in a spot of trouble if that oil had spilled."

The girl didn't meet his eye. "Of course, my Lord."

He looked her over again. She seemed familiar, though he couldn't quite place a name to her face. Ishra, or Ishka, or something similar. One of the cook's daughters, no doubt. The whole family worked in the castle in some fashion. He pointed up at the lamp, and her gaze followed his hand. "May I?"

She nodded, her short supply of verbosity apparently spent.

When she held the flint striker out for him, he nearly laughed. "That won't be necessary."

With a snap of his fingers, loud in the hall around them, the lamp was lit, flaring to life in a soft whoosh.

If she was startled, she did not show it.

"Thank you, my Lord." She dipped her head low, her eyes still not quite meeting his.

"It was nothing." With the added light of the lamp, Mothlenor could see the finer angles of the woman's face. She wasn't altogether unattractive. Almost pretty, even, in a plain sort of way.

And much too young.

"Take care in the future, please." Mothlenor smiled at her, keeping his tone light. "I can't have all of my people bumbling around, injuring one another. It just wouldn't do."

She bowed again, this time a little more stiffly. "Of course, my Lord. Please excuse me, there are more lamps to be lit." She stepped around him nimbly, eyes downcast, and slipped around the corner.

The rest of his walk was less eventful, though Mothlenor did pause as the next large window he passed, dismayed to see that the sun was already descending. Another day gone before I was able to steal myself away long enough to check on my greatest acquisition. And tomorrow, the hanging... Then the real work begins.

When he at last found the large double doors he wanted, he found it guarded by two young King's Guards. They looked up at him, eyes wide and shocked, as he came to a stop not three feet from them.

A second passed, one boy cast a quick glance to his neighbor. They said nothing, and made no move.

"Well," Mothlenor said with an exasperated sigh, "aren't you going to open the doors for me?"

This time they both looked to their neighbor.

"My Lord," one began. He looked to be perhaps a year older than the other, but his voice was still a bit high and weak. "This is the treasure room..."