Strife and Subterfuge

"Wait, young Lord, where are you going?"

Dorn Dragonfang stopped and glared back over his shoulder at the imperial messenger, causing the man to shrink back. He didn't bother to answer, turning to enter the archway that led to a long spiral staircase. All ready high within the Dragonheart Citadel, this staircase would take the young dragoon to the Great Aerie where trained wyverns of the Empire roosted.

With his foot on the first step, the messenger pleaded with him. "Please, young Lord, Her Imperial Highness demanded that I forbid you to pursue vengeance against Highland. Your strength is needed here. You are the last dragoon remaining besides the Lord-Captain Exemplar, and Sir Galuf will need your aid and authority in rebuilding the Imperial Lancers."

Dorn whirled, his face contorted in rage. He wore the dark dragon armor of all dragoons, though he was newly raised to the right. His dragon helm was tucked under one arm and an armored fist shook at his side. "The Lord-Captain is competent enough, and I will not be dissuaded! Convey that to my mother, messenger!" Afterward, he turned and stalked up the stairs.

The man only sighed and shook his head.

Dorn moved up the high stone tower with a single-minded focus. The Lancers of the Dragon Empire had never felt such a sting to their honor, and most of all, Dorn could not accept that his older brother had been killed by a mere Highland Knight. Nonetheless, Bain Dragonfang was dead, and Dorn gritted his teeth, his dark eyes stinging as tears threatened to fall. Many had said that he looked much like his brother, with his strong jaw-line and angular countenance. Bain had taught Dorn more than even their old master, Galuf, about the ways of the dragoon and the blessings of the Sky Lord Bahamut.

Dorn shook his head violently, snarling to himself. He would be damned if Highland got away with this, but his mother was ever the ruler, ever the diplomat. She had the entire Empire to think about and would do nothing without delays and preparation. Dorn had tried to understand what she had to deal with. He had tried to understand that the core of the Empire's army was the dragoons, and that traditional military doctrine stated that they must lead the imperial army. Yet the Imperial Lancers had never been wiped out to a man. Never. It would take too much time to rebuild them and Dorn could not wait. He would not!

So here he was now. Topping the stairs, he left under another archway, which led to the rough-hewn roost, an open-air cavern were row upon row of nests resided, backed by huge granite cliffs. There were upwards of a hundred wyverns resting here, though many flew out into the sky over a thousand foot drop to cold hard rocks below, spiraling lazily in the sky to stretch their wings.

Entering into the frigid winds, Dorn's long blond hair flew about, even tied back into a tail as it was. His black cape fluttered about as well, a stylized blood-red spear embroidered on its back. Ignoring the cold, Dorn fit his dragon helm on, and strode to the thirteenth nest where a large female wyvern rested. Her scales glittered in the morning sun like obsidian, smooth and thick, and as Dorn approached, her head lifted, her large golden eyes regarding him with silent expectation.

Dorn stopped before her and unstrapped the long slender lance-tipped spear beneath his cape. He held it in one hand to his side like a staff, its long wicked head of tempered steel gleaming in the daylight. With a confident smile, he bowed before the wyvern and the majestic creature arched her neck in a similar motion. With that acknowledgement, Dorn spoke: "You have helped me many times before, Araka. Now I seek the blood of the treacherous Highland scum that took my brother's life! I seek vengeance! It is unwise, it is foolhardy, but I will not do otherwise until all of Highland has paid in pain! Will you aid me in this?"

Wyverns were not capable of speech, of course, but they were far from dumb beasts. They could be taught to understand the meanings of mannerisms, especially of those whom they knew best, their handlers and riders. With their riders, especially, this link was very strong.

Araka blinked once and bowed again.

Dorn smiled triumphantly. "Than I shall have you saddled and we will depart immediately."

Fifteen minutes later, Dorn and Araka flew from the roost out over the mountainous morning world below just as shouts came from imperial troops undoubtedly sent to stop Dorn at his mother's behest. They halted at the ledge shouting his name, but their calls were quickly left behind. Now aloft, Dorn and his mount flew on, surrounded only by the stony earth below, the great sky above, and the shrieking winds all about.

Vengeance would be his, Dorn swore, even if it cost him everything to attain it. That was his vow.

As he and Araka headed south, the cold winds blew all the fiercer.

IIIIIIIIII

Lord Sumpter Baigan slammed a fist down on a darkwood table covered with fine porcelain plates piled with delicious delicacies. "My patrons are gone, all four of them! Does no one keep their word anymore?"

Across the table from him sat a beautiful young woman that toyed with a golden goblet. She wore a black dress embroidered heavily in thread-of-gold, a contrast she preferred. Her heart-shaped face harbored large green eyes, now contemplative, and her long darkly red hair flowed down over one shoulder.

Erin Arlington spoke thoughtfully. "Oh, not to worry, my Lord Baigan. I shall be your patron, and provide your lesser House support aplenty, if you wish so much to be King. His current Majesty has lost himself in weeping over the apparent taking of the princess. Airships fall from the sky and monsters of all sorts are plaguing the pocket provinces at the borders of the kingdom. And this madness continues to spread."

The man looked to her, tapping the table. "You are a wealthy House, but not so much as the four. I wonder if your backing will be enough?"

The girl smiled at him shrewdly. "Oh, it shall be backing enough, once my troublesome father is out of the way. Indeed, if I can persuade you to see to that problem, than I can throw you my full support with the faction that has resented the king's treatment of them in recent years. With that faction, I have great truck."

"But I sided with Lord Garland and the four, I do not see why they would accept me," Baigan said irately.

The girl gave a slight shake of her head. "Not to worry, I have been preparing quite a daring tale of how you pretended to toady to them in order to ferret out certain schemes – of which I have ample 'evidence' of. Trust me when I say that I have been preparing long for this."

Baigan gave her a wary look. "And why would you support me? Why not take the throne for yourself? For that matter, how do you intend to oust the princess if she returns?"

Erin looked at him and her emerald eyes gleamed. "By making certain that she does not return. As to your other questions, I am not interested in the throne of Highland. To be the head of my House is quite enough. Of course, when I assume High Seat, I must also make certain that House Loftlan's wealth and power is added to mine. That is my main ambition, if you must know."

Baigan frowned at the mention of Loftlan. "How do you intend to do that? Aria Loftlan is difficult to deal with. I have tried to ingratiate myself with her many times before."

The girl gave a considerate nod. "Of course you have, Lord Baigan, but you lack tact and skill in the areas required. You lack strength of wit where it must be uncanny. You lack a great many things, I fear."

The big man growled, but Erin forestalled him with an upraised hand. "Accept your faults, Lord Baigan, and toady to me now. I will give you what you wish if you can have my father dealt with."

"I do not like being insulted, girl!" the man spat.

"But you do like power, though you lack it now. With my aid, you can attain all that you wish; the throne of this country, the backing of all the contrary knighthoods and their strength, truck with guildmasters and merchant princes. All these links to power can be yours if you but aid me in this one thing. It is too much power for me alone, and I find I have no one else to share it with." She paused, taking a long sip of wine from her goblet before looking casually at the man across from her. "The choice is yours, Lord Baigan."

He mulled it over, still scowling, until he finally nodded. "I am in contact with certain skilled persons, remnants of a group that followed Lady Tiam. Your father will be 'seen to', if I have your oath of patronage."

Erin nodded immediately. "You will have all the support I can muster, all that of my House and retainers. I swear to the Sacred Light of the Crystals themselves that this will be so."

Baigan still seemed wary, but could not stop a slow smile spreading across his face. He noticed it soon enough and forced his lips straight before he stood. "As you say, Lady Arlington, I am your man."

Erin contained her own knowing smile perfectly. The fool was like an open book, with no more control than a fool goblin or boorish tribesman.

Yes, indeed, he would be the perfect tool.

When the man left the dining hall, Erin nibbled absently at a slice of rolled ham. Aria and Valor had not kept their dinner date two days passed, and Erin had wondered immediately if Aria had finally come to suspect her. The girl's unwaveringly honorable parents were the perfect cover, but Aria Loftlan was no Sumpter Baigan. Still, if the old woman suspected foul play, why had she allowed the marriage proposal to her son, Valor? It might be some kind of lure, but Erin had never caught any hint of such subterfuge and she had looked as thoroughly as possible without arousing suspicion. Still, Aria Brigada Loftlan was highly skilled at intrigue. During this whole upheaval, she had played both the political factions so skillfully that Erin doubted that either side had noticed the marked increase in House's Loftlan's power. Erin's own House, though strong, had gained no new influence. Her parents possessed a great deal of honor and a pathetic lack of ambition. Sometimes the girl wondered how she was even related to them. However, her mother, Seena Arlington, was ill and Erin's father, Oster, was an idealistic fool. They would be easy enough to... displace.

The girl took another sip of wine and smiled. "You will be mine, Valor Loftlan, a suitably strong and handsome trophy to cap my triumph. I fear, however, that your mother must meet with an unfortunate accident." With that, Erin stood from the table and began her true work in earnest.