10. Duke Anchev
Standing beside his bride, back in Entar's study, the duke addressed them both simply, plainly, and with deep regret, his palms flat on his desk as he stood. Charnarion felt Skie's gasp and stifled sob as she turned and buried her face against him, while for him, everything became numb. Entar ceased to speak, but slumped back in his seat. The Duke's words replayed over and over in Charnarion's mind, their meaning clear, but somehow without sense. It didn't make sense. Bandits? Eddard? Ajantis? What were they doing hunting bandits? How could two paladins with a squadron of Flaming Fist simply fall? How did the bandits know to ambush them?
Turning to Skie, he simply held her, while she screamed and cried her heart out. Inwardly, he felt nothing. He and Eddard had never been especially close, but he was still a brother to him, an older one. He was meant to carry on the family name, his father's legacy, uphold the Silvershield estate. All of that was snuffed out, all by a few arrows. Now… everything fell on him, and on Skie.
Charnarion studied Entar. The man looked more wearied than ever, more resigned than hurt, one blow too many, the weight of so much loss finally crushing him. He no longer looked regal, capable, or confident; he looked tired to his very bones, broken. Charnarion knew they had enemies, rivals, their allies often being their rivals, but who would have ever thought the Silvershield heir would ever fall to mere bandits? For all his years of training, for all the wealth that bought the very best armour, shield and sword, for all his god's protection, Eddard had fallen like a common foot-soldier. No healing vials were enough, and he bled out, in the dirt, like a deer brought down by a game hunter.
His grip tightened around Skie, her wailing increasing. The rest of the household was in despair, their joy ripped abruptly from them, and mourning garments were donned. There could be no honeymoon now, no celebration. For Skie, she had only her father left, and who knew how long he would last? The very foundations of their world seemed shaken. Charnarion wondered if this is how those who lost their gods felt a decade back. Nothing would ever, could ever be the same.
A single Flaming Fist scout escaped the slaughter; he claimed the arrows were barbed, steeped with venom, and their enchantments pierced their armour as though it were parchment. A day later, the Fist sent their condolences, and their commander, 'Scar', personally sent his assurances the matter would be investigated. Wearily, Entar dismissed the messenger, one Lieutenant Jessa Vai, and she offered a curt salute, her fiery hair bound neatly at the nape, her helm under her arm.
In the coming days, the Black Talon tightened their grip on the city, and an Iron Throne trade delegation brought about the collapse of the Seven Suns. Duke Entar withdrew from public life, mourning his son, and holing up in his study. Reiltar, now Grand Duke, went alone to Candlekeep, and there, met with the Knights of the Shield. He never made it back, and Sarevok, apparently inheriting his late father's title within a matter of hours, launched a savage proclamation Amn had murdered his father and called for vengeance. Eltan, the remaining Grand Duke, fell ill and perished a few days later, apparently, poisoned at the hands of Amnish agents. War fervour, driven by fear, at such an attack on native soil, rose to fever pitch, and anyone found guilty of 'moderation', were branded traitors. Those few calling for peace were violently suppressed by the Black Talons.
With Duke Entar still in self-imposed confinement, it seemed there was no one left to challenge Sarevok's rule, and he ruthlessly asserted his power across the city, threatening to disband the Flaming Fist if they didn't heed his rally to arms. The martial law Entar vowed to lift was thrust back upon the people, Sarevok declaring its necessity for 'the greater good' and a city-wide draft began. All the sons of the noble families were called up, and pressed into officer training. Many of them had experience, but most of them simply partook in duels for recreation. That they were used to front squadrons of the Fist suggested to some that Sarevok merely intended to control the aristocracy and use the Fist as fodder. This assessment was soon proved correct, as the advanced force was formed primarily of the Fist.
Unable to resign her commission, Jessa Vai headed to the Silvershield estate and claimed that she was dispatched with a group of the 'old guard' to augment the household guard, and see to Duke Entar's safety. Given the murder of two Grand Dukes in such short succession, Sarevok was forced to concede, lest he risk an uprising. Duke Entar still maintained huge popularity, but despite Skie's constant prompts for him to call the people to overthrow the tyrant that was Sarevok, he would not, instead, sinking deeper and deeper into his depression. Blaming himself not just for his son, but also his wife, Duke Entar could not be lifted. Charnarion began to suspect that something else was at play, perhaps of arcane nature, but few clerics were available, and the entirety of the city's mages were drafted for the war effort.
Meanwhile, Cythandria was conspicuously silent, appearing only twice to visit the Silvershield estate, offering her commiserations. Each time, she was received in the front drawing room, where she took kaeth, preferring hers dark, like Charnarion's. Skie, pale, and wan, in black, joined them, but her responses were all but scripted, polite but without heart. Cythandria remained forcefully cheerful, though cool, and her sole touch was to press on each of their knees, her eyes holding a sort of sympathy, but also a grimness that Charnarion could not quite place. Sarevok was too busy with the war effort to visit, and balls, banqueting and dinner parties, along with other frivolities, such as the theatre, were no longer acceptable.
As the city became a war camp, Sarevok's public appearances became fewer and fewer. A few whispers of a personal illness were quickly suppressed, but never quite went away. In Cythandria's second visit, in an apparently lapse, she absently commented that Sarevok was more irritable and he was unable to touch shellfish. Then she told them not to worry, that no one would even consider blaming them. She also dropped that their wedding would take place right before Sarevok's march, and while still in mourning, it was expected that the pair be there, as someone needed to represent the Silvershields.
Jessa Vai showed her out, and security was tightened around the estate. Under her command, the great gates remained locked, and the watch along the walls was doubled, all roof access was restricted, and guardsmen with bows patrolled the roof as well as the grounds. The servants' existed in a state of subdued terror, their day to day routine unaltered, but the mood grey. Those who bucked this trend involved Charnarion's former governess and the morning maid. Even the major-domo was in despair.
Worse was to come. Cythandria, who apparently 'advised' Lieutenant Vai to ensure that neither Skie nor Charnarion left the estate, for their own protection, was apt in her assessment. The mood shifted from fervour to low, rumbling anger, outrage and fear when Sarevok, as Grand Duke, declared a 'return to the old ways', and forced the clerics from their temples, instead raising the black banner of Bhaal from all the houses of the gods. In a speech in the hall of the Ducal Palace, he declared that since 'murder' was the 'tools of Amn', they would 'take those tools and turn them against them'. Reportedly, a phalanx of Black Talons responded by tearing off their livery and throwing down their banners and taking up their Duke's new banner. Upon this declaration, it was said that a number of assassination attempts occurred, each one savagely put down. Those that made it to the upper halls of the Iron Throne's tower, now the true headquarters of the war effort and city administration, faced Sarevok himself. It was said the fortunate ones were those who underwent public execution.
As Charnarion wiled away the days, Skie altered her time with him, sitting close by, and retreating to various spots around the house for hours at a time. She guarded her solitude zealously, and none of the servants approached her except for the morning maid, who patently informed her when it was time for meals. Charnarion believed that she helped, or insisted, on bathing Skie each night and morn, and perhaps it was her efforts alone that kept Skie from becoming completely mussed. Skie herself showed little inclination towards self-care, prone to bouts of random tears, absolute silence, and then abrupt wailing, only to still. However unfair it might have been, Charnarion found himself relieved that she withdrew, granting him respites from the general mood. At the same time, he was grateful for her presence and took comfort whenever she was near, somehow mutually sharing closeness even with all that was going on.
For his own part, Charnarion found himself stalking the grounds, restless as he sought out Lieutenant Vai and requested near constant reports. He eagerly awaited word from the city with a hunger that could not be sated. Ravenous for news, his frustration at his inability to do something, anything, only increased. It struck him as odd that if all the other noble sons aged ten and over were drawn into the 'officer training programme', why had he alone been singled out and all but confined under house arrest? Between such thoughts and his prowling, he found himself pouring through the various books of the Silvershield estate. Exemptions were made for many of the liveried servants, and they jealously guarded their duties, as if afraid to be moved to the front line. Charnarion had no doubt this was not due to charity, but simply to prevent the noble classes from rising in outright rebellion. Removing their servants was a sure-fire way to incite all manner of revolt. Imagine, a lord having to wash and fold their own laundry. Charnarion rolled his eyes.
It seemed however, that Lieutenant Vai obviously remembered him, and it took him a while to place her. Previously posted in Beregost, it was her who led the investigation into Gorion's death and informed Firebead of the news. Perhaps that was why she tolerated him, or perhaps, she simply respected his station. Recalled when the city was sealed, she kept her head down, something Charnarion could appreciate.
The day of the wedding came and went, a letter arriving from Cythandria's now familiar hand, apologising and promising she would visit soon. The city, her elegant scrawl told, was much more dangerous than she previously imagined, and with so many vagrants wishing to vent their fury against their rightful lords, she could not, in good conscience allow their safety to be jeopardised. Therefore, she must insist that they stay with their father, safe at the Silvershield estate. And that, was that.
Lieutenant Vai reported that the Black Talon patrols had increased, their numbers swollen by the foreign recruits, while Sarevok's host, mostly formed from the city rabble, wore the colours of Bhaal, the dead Lord of Murder. The masses had grown to accept it, she believed, though she sounded sceptical, as Sarevok had transformed it into a symbol of victory.
Vai also reported that her commander, Scar, had fallen in battle, not, she noted, in the forays against the outskirts of Nashkel, which Amn was hastily reinforcing, though rumours persisted that the authorities of Athkatla could not quite bring themselves to believe the madness that was occurring in Baldur's Gate, instead dismissing it as the ramblings of lunacy, but rather, Scar had shared a similar fate to Eddard Silvershield, shot down by bandits. Of course, the foray had been a success, and Sarevok declared the surround lands officially cleared of bandits. A line of filled gibbets running the length of the road from Beregost to Baldur's Gate silenced any doubters. He also instituted a policy that won him such favour, accolades were heaped upon him from the masses. The policy was simple: all commanders led from the front. There was no cowardice allowed in his ranks, no favouritism. If an officer failed to lead his or her troops, he had no business being an officer.
On the surface, Charnarion could agree with that, but it also seemed like an excellent way to hold the noble families hostage. If they did not tow the line, their sons would simply meet the same fate as Scar and now, he was thoroughly convinced, Eddard. Eddard might not have been personal, but he was certain Scar's demise was there to set an example. Now, he imagined, many of the families would be stumbling over each other in order to please their sole Grand Duke. If they didn't, no doubt a few more examples could be set.
A few days later, the policy was revised: if an officer failed, or his squadron retreated, the officer would pay for it with his life, and one out of ten of the remaining soldiers were to be put to the sword by their own unit. Any deserters would suffer a fate so terrible they would beg for a merciful death.
From the outset of Sarevok claiming his father's title, Imoen stopped writing, or perhaps, Charnarion decided, it might be more accurate to say that none of her letters got through. It was also odd that no one noticed Sarevok failed to be elected, but rather, no one opposed him, at least, no one opposed him for very long.
The raids increased on outlying regions. The village of Gullykin was targeted, its survivors enslaved, and set to work in mines based in Cloakwood, mines that the Iron Throne knew of but few others remembered. The town of Beregost was subjugated, fortified and the road south made ready for the march. The Friendly Arm Inn between Beregost and Baldur's Gate, a former temple of Bhaal, was restored, and as a former walled keep, it became a staging post along the supply run. Preparations continued, and with each passing day, Sarevok's horde grew stronger. From the port city of Luskan in the north, ships bearing mercenaries arrived by the dozen, drawn by the promise of loot. A delegation from the Lords Alliance arrived, demanding Sarevok stand down and relinquish his power. They were all beheaded in one of the public squares, their heads drowned in honey and sent back to their masters, with the stark warning of not to interfere or the city's former allies would be deemed as hostile 'to the advancement to the people of the Gate', and such hostility would 'not be tolerated'.
Despite his warmongering, no one had actually formally issued any declarations of war, and Athkatla was still in a state of disbelief at events in the north. While Amn continued to reinforce the frontier town of Nashkel, its leaders seemed to believe that as Sarevok hadn't moved, it was simple posturing in order to force better trade relations. Had it been another Grand Duke, such as Reiltar Anchev, they might have been right. No one was entirely sure why Sarevok hadn't moved, or what he was waiting for. While the army raided undefended settlements, trained and stood at attention, engaged in parade drills and drank ale, Sarevok appeared immobilised. A few quiet voices began to question if he was all bluster, or if he was afraid to act. Waterdeep sent a second set of emissaries, who were, understandably, far more tactful, and personally open to negotiation. It was said Cythandria sent them packing, refusing to allow them to see the Grand Duke. Sarevok's preparations for war took precedence over all other matters. In fact, whenever anyone approached the upper storeys, and few wished to, they found themselves turned away, or speaking with Cythandria. The answer was always the same: Sarevok was busy and not to be disturbed. Right before anyone could move against them, a mandate was issued declaring Cythandria as 'Grand Duchess', and that she spoke with her lord's voice.
Winter came and went, and still, the army did not move. The mercenaries from Luskan grew increasingly restless, and tavern riots became common as ill-discipline mounted. Months later, from the upmost balcony of the Iron Throne's tower, much as he had before, Sarevok addressed the people. He claimed he had engaged in secret negotiations with Amn, and an agreement had been reached. They had won a bloodless victory. Nashkel, the frontier mining town, would be turned over to their control, and Athkatla had surrendered. Moreover, Amn would pay reparations, and while they did not accept the blame for the death of the two Grand Dukes directly, they credited a rogue group within Amn as responsible. In order to forgo the further loss of life, those responsible would be turned over for public execution. The war was over.
The 'Sythillisian uprising' afflicting Amn's south was never mentioned, nor was it made known Amn could ill-afford a war on two fronts. The siege and subsequent fall of the Amnish port city of Murann was also kept quiet, as, with the armies of Amn distracted and demoralised, tactically, now would be the time to invade.
The reaction was mixed. The Luskan mercenaries revolted, and predictably, the Black Talons, though taking losses, contained them. Stripped of their weapons, armour and clothing, they were taken to the lowest levels of the mines in chains, their officers publicly disembowelled. The ringleaders were burnt alive. This gruesome example quietened the city, and Cythandria announced a five day, city-wide celebration, at Athkatla's expense.
During this time, she personally visited the Silvershield estate. Around her neck hung a golden locket.