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Chapter 6

Stalemate

The meeting immediately burst into chaos. Jarvan IV leapt up and roared just over the riotous din, "liar! I never ordered such a thing!" He jabbed a finger in Swain's face.

"Of course you wouldn't publicly admit to your crimes!" Swain bellowed in return.

Jarvan IV's face contorted in fury, he opened his mouth and rattled a list of accusations at the tactician. Swain denied none of them – deferring to ignore his ranting entirely. The irate prince put Tryndamere to shame (the barbarian in question looked a tad bored, while Mayor Ridley groaned in frustration). Troops on both sides began to cluster belligerently behind their leaders. When it appeared the two could no longer argue sanely, (if they ever could), the king stepped up and ordered Jarvan IV to be silent. The prince reluctantly took a seat – still smoldering. Swain, nearly at the end of his patience, but hiding it better, was almost thankful Jarvan III had stepped in.

"Seeing as nothing but spite will come from this meeting, I would request further questioning of the prisoner be delayed." the king announced.

"Agreed," Swain nodded.

"And if I may also request the prisoner be kept in Demacia – because he is a citizen thereof." There was a barbed under current to his statement. Swain noted this and continued.

"I would not permit this man into either Demacian or Noxian prisons. Both city-states may have people intent on eliminating him. Thus, I propose he be held in Kalamanda, a neutral ground. And Garvin should not be questioned without members of both the states present."

"Very well," Jarvan III sighed, "We should meet again in four weeks – that will be plenty of time to organize our affairs and to cool the situation – to question Garvin."

"Until then," Swain bowed in his usual flamboyant manner. With a curt nod, the general and his men filed out of the meeting.

Tension remained high in the coming weeks. More soldiers filtered in on both sides under the reasoning of keeping important officials safe. Swain knew better. So did the citizens of Kalamanda who began leaving in droves as the potential for violence escalated. The mining town, for all its innocent exterior, was girding for war.

Swain, who reported back to Kalamanda, mostly kept to himself, staying out of the public eye. He noted Jarvan IV and company were doing likewise. So much so that many, Swain included, had begun to doubt the king and prince were even in their encampment.

Three weeks after Garvin's confession, Swain was delivered a message from Jarvan III requesting that the questioning be pushed back again. The general was outraged – hadn't three weeks been plenty of time? Swain wanted to get this Kalamanda mess finished and put under wraps. However, after several minutes of furious pacing, the tactician came to a much different conclusion. Why did the king want to push back the interrogations in the first place? The reason didn't matter so much as the public response did. The people of Valoran would begin to wonder, why the sudden hesitation? Doesn't Demacia want to get the matter sorted out as soon as possible? And if the seemingly scrupulous king had nothing to hide, why now was he beating around the bush? Swain thought to himself, it's almost as though he's playing right into my hands. With a bit less reluctance, Swain agreed to the summons, knowing in the least that cooperating would help his case.

Gathering he could glean nothing more from Kalamanda, and seeing as he now had ample time, Swain took a carriage back to Noxus. As much as he abhorred the rocking wheeled menace, it was slightly less nauseating than the last trip. At least, until the driver swerved to miss something and ended up running over what he intended to avoid. The thing thudded under the carriage wheels and a few meters later the carriage pulled to a halt. Swain opened the window and peeked out to see what had caused such a disturbance.

He wasn't at all surprised to see the trampled over body of Karthus.

The driver ran over to the window, distress written all over his face, "did I kill him?"

"He's a lich; he's already dead." When the driver looked sickened, Swain added, "don't worry, he'll reanimate in an hour or so."

The driver nodded, looking dazed, and returned to his duty. He was too professional – or proud – to admit he wasn't used to this "superstitious hullaballoo"

The remainder of Swain's trip went without a hitch.

An hour or so later…

Karthus regained consciousness abruptly. He mumbled something about an inhibitor and carefully took inventory of his arms, head, and body, noticing with despair his legs were on the other side of the road.

"Aww, not again," he grumbled.

Back in Noxus, Swain kept Darius up to date with the Kalamanda situation. His right hand general seemed oddly uneasy.

"This is bigger than we could have expected, sir," the general noted.

"Indeed so, yet for the time-being we can only wait."

"The High Command wishes to speak with you." Darius announced uncomfortably.

"What do they want?" Swain growled.

"To debrief you? Kieran didn't say." Darius fidgeted uncharacteristically, "I am not allowed to be present at this meeting."

"Are they attempting to intimidate me?" Swain posed the question rhetorically, "They want to strip me of my imposing ally, eh? Leave the frail old man exposed?" Darius shrugged. Swain chucked, "Insolent fools." He dismissed the general and shuffled off. The tactician easily held his doubts from Darius, but not himself. Facing the high command, even on a seemingly harmless premise was tantamount to stepping into a viper's nest.

Swain was received at the door and slowly made his way down dreary, echoing halls, through a set of great iron doors, and into the black onyx throne room.

This palace had been the former home to the Noxian Aristocracy when they still reigned supreme. Swain remembered it well; the puppet government secretly manipulated by the Black Rose. Until Boram Darkwill had overthrown it. Now he sat on the very throne he'd connived so long to usurp.

The tactician halted halfway down the alley to the throne and bowed mechanically to the ancient figure seated there. Beside him in the pulpit, Darkwill was flanked by his sons and bodyguards, as well as the other generals.

A rasping noise ground from inside Darkwill's mask as he creaked upright, "General Swain. It has come to my attention that you've been taking…certain liberties in Kalamanda. Do you demur?" He fixed Swain with a vicious glower.

"No sir, as the chaos is being carefully monitored by the League itself, I have felt it within my bounds, and my duty, as a League Champion to deal with the situation as I see fit." Swain replied calmly.

"Even without the consent of your superiors?" Darkwill asked dangerously.

"With all due respect," Swain started without feeling a shred of respect, "yes, I do, sir."

"You forget your place, Swain," Darkwill snarled. "Your first loyalty is to your city-state, not the League of Legends. Or do you now break all you have vowed? Choose your words carefully, General"

Swain restrained from a brash retort. What did either of them know of loyalty? Alliances were formed to manipulate…a passing phase in an overwhelming power struggle fueled by ambition and consumed with greed.

"I apologize for my insubordinate acts; however, I do not regret them. Through my actions, certain conflict has been staved off and Noxus can still stake its rightful claim on Kalamanda's riches."

Darkwill made a disgruntled sound and seemed to be laboring over his decision beneath that implacable face.

"Very well," He growled finally, "I will let this incident slip," Kieran made a strangled noise in disbelief, "however, know that I will not be so lenient should you violate my command again," Darkwill fixed a steely glare on Swain, "You are not leader of Noxus."

Not yet, Swain thought.

He was dismissed, and Swain departed with haste, all too eager to get out of this hellhole. He should have noted, though, Kieran's vacant seat as he left the chamber.

Beatrice shot from his shoulder with a battle shriek and nearly clawed the eyes out of Darkwill's youngest before Swain could call her off. The demonic raven glided back to his shoulder, feathers ruffled and eyes ablaze.

Without preamble, Kieran bellowed, "I'm on to you Swain. You've been far too successful and break far too many rules for my taste. Why my father didn't execute you back in the chamber is beyond me."

"Perhaps that was because your father is persuaded by reason."

"Reason, bah! Whatever you are up to, it will end badly," Kieran snarled.

"For whom?" Swain queried.

"I'll see to it myself you never get a hold of the throne," he thundered recklessly.

"You think that's what I'm after?" Swain mocked, evading the heedless youth's prying.

"What do you know of the Black Rose?" Kieran asked abruptly.

Swain went cold – this boy was more intuitive than he had thought. Mirthlessly the tactician jeered, "The Black Rose? Is that what you gathered? Why on earth would you think I would know anything of them? You think the Black Rose will get me power? Fool! The Back Rose is nothing. It was destroyed over two decades ago by your father. I myself was there at the final purge of the aristocracy." Swain finished tremulously.

His unexpected fervor left Kieran stunned. Swain took this as a chance to exit.

Kieran opened his mouth to speak, but Swain silenced him with a jab of his cane, "don't challenge me, boy, it will be the last thing you ever do."

The day for Garvin's questioning neared, though time slid by at a snail's pace. Katarina could not stand the wait. As one who lived for action, the extended piddling around with diplomatic matters drover her mad. She wanted – needed – the Kalamanda incident resolved so she could focus entirely on finding her father. Every day wasted his trail grew colder, and a part of her was beginning to lose hope she would ever find…

Angrily the assassin banished the pitiful thoughts. She was not – would not be – weak.

Katarina leaned over the balcony of her chamber and let her eyes wander over the gardens of the expansive du Couteau estate.

Had her father been at all involved in this mess? Had he seen this turmoil coming? He had been so secluded in his final weeks with them, it was impossible to decipher his motives, and yet, from a logical standpoint, it only made sense that whatever Marcus du Couteau had been up to was a part of the current political dilemma. Once again, Katarina was met with a dead end, stalemated in too many fragmented leads.

She returned in doors, weary and ready to turn in. Before Katarina went to sleep, she pulled out her many knives and took inventory of them – unwilling to shake the augury that she would soon need them – when Talon dropped lightly onto the balcony. He let himself in without casting so much as a glance at Katarina.

"Talon, you're back," she commented, "where were you?"

"Nowhere," he answered evasively.

A frown fixated itself onto Katarina's features, "why won't you tell me anything?" She demanded, knowing well she would not receive an answer. When Talon hardly reacted she pried further, "what's wrong with you? Not that you've ever been open, but you haven't been yourself these past weeks. Is it about my father?" Talon still did not respond beyond a shrug.

Rage borne of frustration flooded the red-headed assassin, "You can't keep everything bottled up inside you all the time! Do you think this is easy on me either? You're not on your own anymore – you can open up to the people around you – to me!" She bit her lip angrily, wishing she hadn't said too much.

Talon gave her a look of contempt, "emotions are for the weak. And it's none of your business."

Katarina reeled for another outburst, but was cut off when Talon slipped away again. She raged internally. He was right, emotions were weaknesses – they were assassins, and sentimentality was not an afforded luxury.

Perhaps, deep down, they both knew having emotions was not the same as being weak. It was harder to feel, it hurt more than shoving unwanted sentiment under a bitter shell. Somehow they both could sense this inner vulnerability, though as Noxians they quelled feelings remorselessly.

LeBlanc had just finished having tea with Elise when a breathless Gervais burst through the door to her lair.

"D-D-Darkwill – he-he's l-leaving N-Noxus!" He panted.

"What?!" LeBlanc stood up with such force her chair smashed against the wall behind it and her poor teacup finally did shatter in her grip.

"It's true, he took a guard and carriage and left just before dusk," Gervais sagged against the doorframe.

"Does Swain know about this?" She demanded sharply.

"Y-yes, I found him first. He was just…"

Both heads turned to the door as the familiar clacking of the general's cane came into earshot, "I'm coming," he barked, "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Charming." LeBlanc said dryly, she sank back into her chair, "Darkwill leaving; this is unprecedented."

"That's not all," Gervais began skittishly. As Swain came through the door the doorman gestured respectfully to the general to continue.

"Garvin is dead," Swain sighed emptily, "they found him in his cell yesterday."

LeBlanc sank deeper into her chair, "how?" Her voice was hollow.

"He was poisoned in jail. Nyzer poison."

"Then it could have come from anywhere, or anyone – even Garvin."

"Precisely," Swain fixed LeBlanc with a stern look, "I trust this was not your doing?"

The deceiver held up the vial of poison – untouched.

"Good. I would have been rather cross had you ruined our plans," his understatement held an unspoken threat.

"Though that has never stopped either of us before," LeBlanc muttered. She looked up and motioned Swain to sit down.

He limped over to the table and sighed, "LeBlanc, what have you done to your hand?" She checked and found with a jolt the shattered teacup had made several lacerations in her right palm. Swain made a tsking sound and cradled her hand in his while pressing a cloth napkin on top to stem the bleeding.

LeBlanc murmured, "You're getting blood all over my silk napkins."

"The napkins are replaceable, you are not."

She rolled her eyes upon hearing such a thing from Swain, but accepted the aid nonetheless.

Once the general had settle opposite LeBlanc, she poured him some tea with her good hand.

"We are going to have to drastically rethink our plans," she observed.

"Not so drastically as you may think," Swain pondered, taking a sip of his beverage. "Garvin is a regrettable setback, but there are other ways of manipulating the chaos. I do feel our great leader Darkwill has opened a grand opportunity."

"How so?" LeBlanc tilted her head inquisitively.

"Why do you think Darkwill left Noxus?"

"To see to Kalamanda himself, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course, but there's something more, something bigger to have made him suddenly leave after over two decades," Swain took a sip of tea and announced, "I do believe Darkwill left because he feels as though his life is in danger."

So. Much. Foreshadowing. That's all I have to say.