Heir to the Empire

22. The Black Knife Syndicate - Ethelston

"The crops milord, the yield is far from last year milord, the harvest could be our worst in ten winters milord. I beg ya help milord."

Ethelston let loose a large yawn as he watched a toothless farmer explain how the crops of the last year had suffered because of a combination of tragedies. The war meant he had no help from his sons, the taxes meant he couldn't pay for help and the Black Knife Syndicate stole most of his reserves. In short, Ethelston's uncle had done all he could to destroy this elderly farmer's livelihood.

This, however, had been the tenth sob story of a similar case today and as a result, Ethelston's interest in such matter had waned significantly.

"How many more do I have to see today?" Ethelston leant over to Jarendrud so only he could hear the question, ignoring the farmer's continuing grumbles.

"At least ten my lord." Jarendrud's gruff voice responded.

"Surely there must be more to running this city than dealing with crop issues." Ethelston complained.

"Considering the state that your uncle left the city, my lord, it is somewhat unlikely."

Ethelston let out a loud sigh of desperation, loud enough that it stopped the farmer in his current tirade of grumbles.

Looking around, Ethelston realised that all eyes were on him.

He wished he could be anywhere but here at this moment. A brothel in Ruvia, fighting orcs in Uthengard, insulting Elves at Gryffinfall, hell, even fighting the Manticore again in that God-forsaken desert. However this was the path he had now chosen, and he would fulfil the role the best way he could.

"Umm, " he stuttered. He looked down to his left to see the goblet of wine he had poured himself before the man entered. Taking a large gulp, he hoped it would make his words seem more sincere. Instead it just made him recall places he would rather be.

Again Ethelston sighed. "As you are aware, we currently support the Emperor's war."

Jarendrud coughed conspicuously.

"Sorry, we are in full support of the Emperor's war, " Ethelston corrected himself "Therefore I can not promise you for when your sons will return. While we can not return the grain that has been stolen, our men are working hard to ensure that security is in place to prevent future thefts."

Despite Ethelston displaying a fake smile, the farmer seemed only to frown back. He knew this farmer was after compensation, but there was no way that Ethelston would provide him with what he was after. It would set a dangerous precedent. Besides, money would be needed for the dark days that were undoubtedly around the corner.

"Thank you." Ethelston responded somewhat more harshly than he intended.

With that, the farmer turned and hobbled out of the hall continuing to grumble to no one in particular.

"Please kill me." Ethelston sighed as the next person entered.

"Unfortunately, my lord, but that is completely against my job description." Jarendrud responded, straightening his jacket for the next person's arrival.

Just as Ethelston was to respond, he spotted the young woman heading down the hall towards them. Instantly, he stopped slouching in his seat and sat as upright as he could.

The young woman, probably just over twenty winters, smiled as Ethelston repositioned himself. Stopping about ten steps from Ethelston and Jarendrud, she kneeled down to the floor, her long blonde hair covering her clean and pleasant complexion.

"Please rise for Lord Ethelston Darke, son of Edric Darke, Duke of Ravenscourt." Jarendrud called out quickly. It had been so well-rehearsed, now, that the words just rolled off his tongue.