Orphan At The Edge Of The World
/ Orphan at the Edge of the World 12 OEW 11
After seeing the half assembled Whiteriver soldiers who had gotten ready to foray out to meet them, Orison suddenly realized just how much of an uproar being late by two hours meant. He received an even deeper understanding of what this compromise cost Trygve after hearing the band marshal of their 'rescue or retrieval' band, begin heckling about the honor band's satisfactory discharge of duty record finally being broken. That is, until the man registered the scorched wagon piled with bodies.
Among the handful of citizens who had been prompted by house, coin or roused by rumor to spit vitriol or throw rotten food at an expected prison cart, there was nothing but silent stares at grizzly trophies and possible family member's bodies. With the conveniently prepared extra guards, there were plenty armed individuals to keep the curious, malicious and grieving away. The eyes of those same citizens had no trouble reaching Orison and his mother, however, and what lied in some of them was enough to keep mother and son on edge all the way to their destination of the lord's keep.
***
Two long, agonizing hours went by for Orison as he sat in a waiting room with Thorrinson and Gan fielding away would be unofficial visitors with friendly warnings and icy glares. It didn't escape his notice that the two had stayed voluntarily after they were summarily dismissed from duty. There was no way of knowing what he would have had to endure otherwise.
Orison replayed the moment of his arrival and the summary notice that had derailed all of the careful plans that he had made with his mother. Upon stepping into the foyer one of Lord Whiteriver's courtiers and a centurion in polished armor met them. The minor Whiteriver court official informed the mother and son of their new status as Empire citizens, a decision that had been made three days prior.
In a sudden reversal of roles, Orison was the one cooling his heels while the business savvy but politics inept Droya was led to see the legate in charge of this section of Northland's diplomatic dealings with the Centerlands. As expected, only in the Northlands would a ten year old find themselves speaking for their whole family but one positive thing could be said about that. No inheriting child would be at the mercy of incidental guardians. At least, not until afterwards.
The two hours of worried waiting wasn't broken by a call to the legate's temporary office but a summons to one of the lord's private meeting chambers. Ushered in alone, Orison found himself face to face with a teenage boy, nearly if not already a man by Northland standards. The dark eyes of this teenager did not carry the brightness of youth but already held a touch of cynicism and vicissitude.
In a surprisingly deep and steady voice, the teenager said, "Greetings, brother."
Faced with the in-the-flesh Venito Arentus, one that lacked any of the expected familiarity, Orison was momentarily struck speechless. Fortunately, he was relieved of the need as a courtier announced to them that the lord of the keep was present. Following directly behind the announcement was the man himself.
After the customary acknowledgment, Lord Whiteriver sat down and motioned for them to do the same before he said, "The Empire has their ways and we have ours. In cases such as this, I like bringing the siblings together in private before the hearing, just to share a few words. We don't have much time for this and an argument will mark the end of this meeting.
"If you'd like a few words in private afterwards, you may. I'll overlook a certain amount of physical introductions but if someone is too injured to attend the hearing afterword, then the offending party will suffer in my ruling. If one of you dies then the other will join them. The treasury can never be too full.
"Young Arentus, as the older you have the floor first. Remember to keep your speeches short and sweet. If I get bored, I'll stop listening and move on... Is there anything you'd like to say to me here that you won't be saying on the floor at the hearing?"
Venito pondered for a second after giving Orison a side glance and said, "Aside from addressing the missing head of House Riven's abuse of guardian power, which I have been counseled not to bring up during this hearing, no, your lordship."
Lord Whiteriver nodded and replied, "And it was for good reason. Never the less, one of my best men are working with Lyra to draw an accounting. When it's done, I intend to have House Riven cough up threefold what it has swallowed. That means you might come up light in this hearing but all said and done you'll profit in the end. My word on it.
"Young Cantrip, due to a bit of legal sleight of hand and political foolery, you nor your mother have a right to speak at the hearing. As far as the Centerland legate is concerned, he has what he came for, so I doubt he'll have much to say on your behalf either. This is your one and only chance to address me on the matter of your inheritance. You heard what I told your brother, so use your words and time wisely."
Orison allowed himself a calming breath then said, "Your lordship, until I stepped into Whiteriver and heard the notice, I was still a Northland citizen. An a**hat who I'm covering the actions of for the sake of Band Marshal Trygve and two good men died to get me here safely. To recognize that sacrifice, I would like your lordship's permission to give an honor tithe to the families of the fallen on all Northland holdings of my inheritance."
Both Venito and the lord looked at Orison stunned for a moment before Lord Whiteriver laughed heartily and slapped his knee, then said, "They silence your voice so you raise three whole families worth to scream on your behalf? Who fed you such a brilliant idea? Your mother?"
Orison smiled mischievously and said, "Record of Northland Law and Amendments, your lordship. Since it was a little dated I was a bit worried about unpleasant surprises."
Lord Whiteriver nodded and said, "You would have been if not for little Venito here. I'm afraid your path of inheritance was doomed to be a thorny one since the High King ratified land ownership and inheritance laws to keep and return our kingdom's land back to Northlander hands. In any event, I'm overjoyed to pass a headache on to my wife's little brother... Who will be the collector on behalf of those families?"
Orison thought quickly and said, "Would your lordship indulge me a moment to consult band member Thorrinson?"
The lord bellowed, "Skunk Butt, get in here! Little Orison's got your a** in the sling now!"
Thorrinson came in looking white as a sheet, shooting Orison a look that screamed 'what did you do'?
"Consult away," Lord Whiteriver said, smiling broadly.
Orison gave Thorrinson a reassuring pat on the arm and said, "Among the families of those we lost, who's the smartest copper pincher?"
Still significantly jarred, Thorrinson stumbled over his own words and said, "I, uh, Volta. I'd say Hvass' sister, Volta.
Orison said, "Sounds good to me. I nominate Volta, your lordship."
Lord Whiteriver chuckled and said, "Oh yes, I've even managed to hear of that woman. Argued with a Redlander for nearly half a day over two silver and not having the change, he finally threw a gold coin at her before storming out of town. To add insult to injury, she chased him for nearly a quarter mile to throw his change back at him. Thank the gods she's the blacksmith's wife and not the barkeeper's. Gods how I wish I could be in the treasury this evening.
"Well, I'm going to need a few minutes to make sure Young Cantrip's move doesn't somehow turn into a headache for me too... Sounds to me, you would have benefited from your little brother's presence here over a week ago. You've got a quarter mark before I need you to make your way to the hearing, Venito... Orison, I don't think we'll meet again on this side of life so I'll bid you a long and prosperous one. Skunk Butt, make sure these two aren't disturbed."
Red faced, Thorrinson responded crisply, "Yes, your lordship."
The two brothers stared at each other in stifling silence for a moment after Lord Whiteriver and Thorrinson left the room. Venito offered, "A little bat told me that you have a gift for me?"
Orison nodded and said, "I do but is this a good place to give a legacy?"
The older teenager slowly shook his head and said, "There won't be many opportunities for us to meet between now and when you leave. If I send for you tonight will you come even if the way will seem foolish to follow?"
Orison mulled it over and said, "If you make sure my mother isn't startled by it, then yes. If one of my guesses is right, I might owe you half a favor."
Venito's chuckle almost sounded sinister before he replied, "Half? You asked for a chance and you received a chance. No, I'm sorry, that's right. Giving you a chance was a favor to me. Still, I traded a handful of daggers for a handful of armor. No small sleight of hand. I can't wait to see how you turn that into a favor for me. Now that will be a real magic trick. No pressure, little brother. At worst, after tonight we can go our own ways. I'm used to being disappointed."
Orison tried not to show his nervousness as he thought to himself, "Are you freaking kidding me!? I was just fishing! This dude somehow got the legate and his soldiers to stay while inciting those House Riven folk to spring the trap? I thought I was doing pretty good for myself but this guy's in another damn league. Should I consider myself lucky he put me at the same level as him or not?"
He said to Venito, "A fool's favor is yours for starters. The rest will have to wait for tonight."
Venito snorted and said, "A fool's favor isn't as valuable as you think but as an opening offer from someone on the outside, it at least shows your goodwill... I'll give you one thing. You think fast on your feet. Hopefully that will be enough to keep you alive where you're going."
Orison nodded thoughtfully and said, "I've heard that the Centerlands are rife with intrigue."
Venito's amused laughter carried a cruel edge that continued into his words as he said, "You think you're going to the Centerlands? Think over your experiences and try again."
In dawning horror, Orison felt lost as he looked at his nominal brother and said in nearly a whisper, "Mortal Winds? But why? All this effort is too much for a simple motive. The under aged second adopted son of a hero is too weak of a piece to warrant anything complex."
Venito sighed and said, "Most people's lives are influenced by the logic and emotion of themselves and others only. Some are moved by something more and there are those who can recognize those few. They try to assure prosperity or sometimes merely survival by meddling with the lives of those few.
"This is something I've just learned myself. Don't overthink it but don't ignore coincidence. Since you accepted my offer, we'll have more time and freedom to speak tonight... A word of advice. It's pointless to argue with the legate. He doesn't have the power to change anything but you might be able to wrestle some concessions."
They parted ways in a stiff, overly formal fashion. It was obvious to both of them that neither knew exactly how they should feel about the other. What wasn't so obvious was a small desire to actually have someone like a brother. It was especially true of one that managed to impress.
While Venito made his way to the noisy meeting hall, Orison was finally summoned to the legate's temporary office. Walking into the room, he noticed that Droya was exhausted and red eyed while the legate appeared as if he was sporting the mother of all migraines. Without waiting for acknowledgment, Orison helped himself to the seat beside his mom.
Taking the queue Venito provided, Orison jumped in before the legate had finished his calming breath. "Ambassador, I am certain my mother has tried everything in her power to change your mind. I don't believe she's aware you have no power to change my assigned post. What I want to know is why I'm going there, what are the expectations of that post and what my compensation will be."
Orison's straight forward approach seemed to have alleviated the legate's mental anguish a little as he said, "The why is a little hard to answer. The expectations aren't much. You, or more specifically, your guardian just needs to keep the embassy maintained and facilitate the missives between Mortal Wind and the Centerlands moving without interruption. Your compensation is the inheritance of a barony title and acceptance as a patrician of the inner nobility... Your father was an honorary patrician, you are not. Without such, your title isn't inheritable."
With as much coldness as he could muster Orison replied, "Oh, well that makes matters simple-"
The legate cut in with, "Then lets get on wi-"
Orison yelled, "I wasn't finished!" As the legate started flushing red in anger, Orison continued in a more neutral volume. " I don't accept."
With a controlled patience that doubtlessly took years to master, the legate intoned stonily, "You don't have a choice. The title and even your basic citizenship demand it. Patrician status was a concession for allocating you to less than ideal conditions but I can take it off the table if you continue this childishness."
Orison smiled coolly and said, "You misunderstand. I reject your title and your citizenship. Land and title were mine by rights. You take away the land and force my mother and I to put our lives at risk to earn an empty title and the right to pass it down. That's supposed to be some kind of favor!?
"You have five minutes to figure out a way to make this right or I walk. Oh, and whoever pulled favors to deny me what's mine by rights better have covered their tracks well. The Empire will need a sacrifice to explain why their promises to the Dragonblood became more worthless than the paper they were written on."
Dark as a thundercloud, the legate began standing only to freeze when he saw that Droya had somehow materialized a dagger in her hand, a promise of death dancing in her eyes.
"If something happens to me or you walk out of this office without signing these papers, you'll be in chains as Domain spies before first light," The legate threatened. Placing his hands on the desk, he finished standing and loomed over Orison who had stood as well.
Orison lowered his head and balled his fists as the legate broke out in a leer and said, "So if we're done with these theatr-"
From foot to fist, Orison leveraged out every bit of strength and torque he could into a jumping uppercut that took the legate completely off guard. The man's jaw line distorted as his head snapped back with sufficient force to knock him out cold. Orison summoned out a sprig of lavender which he crushed and rubbed on the man's neck and wrists. Then he ran a little healing through his fractured hand before grabbing the legate and dragging the unconscious man out into the foyer.
A panicking Droya asked, "What are you doing, Orison!?"
He gave her a reassuring smile and replied, "Putting on a play that even a Northlander will enjoy. Please grab the contracts off the desk, mom... and, um, let me get away with a little cussing this time. I promise not to backslide or may the gods have mercy on my soap."
Once Orison got the man dragged out into the hallway, he began yelling in righteous anger, "This is Northland, you pompous perfumed wh*re of a politician! If you don't even have the snuff to put down a ten year old, then you're dizzy if you think you can steal from one for whatever master you wiggle your a** for!"
Within moments the entire hearing, with Lord Whiteriver in the forefront, were adding peanut gallery potshots to Orison's increasingly heated accusations against the legate while passionately lauding Northland prowess. The empire guard captain, seeing the staunch implied support of Orison's actions, held his men back from rushing the mother and child but did insist on being allowed to carry the legate away for treatment.
Orison handed the signer's copy of the legate's paperwork to the captain and said loudly, "Take a copy of this TRASH to someone who ACTUALLY holds the empire's will as law and get it redressed. It wouldn't do for people to confuse the rogue actions of this sewer rat as proof that a Centerland promise is worthless because people WILL be paying attention now."
Trying to wipe the wide, mischief loving grin off his face but not entirely succeeding, Lord Whiteriver said, "That's enough interruption out of you, boy... Court Mage Gerrald, collect those papers from that svelte kitten temptress over there. I'd like to see what put a burr in that boy's breechclout after the hearing's done... Ganga Fyrstr, escort these two to the Inn and open a bill in my name. Skunk Butt, go home. Your wife thinks you're dead and she's wailing two of my finest guards out front into early retirement... The rest of you, back into the hearing hall. I'd like to wrap this up before my beard goes gray.
As Thorrinson ran off in a panic, Gan led Orison and Droya away.
The last thing they heard before being out of earshot was Mage Gerrald helpfully offering, "I have a dye made from dandelion extract that will fix that right up."
"Use it on the beard below your belt, you limp-wristed Seithr!" Lord Whiteriver bellowed.
Chapter end
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