The Descent: Chapter 2

Domaric was not surprised to see James being escorted in by Grantuck. He was, however, a bit astonished to see the man's son follow his father in. The nervous henchman faltered before striding forward to take the Don's hand. "Don Domaric, I am honored and grateful that you've invited me to your daugh—daughter's wedding. And I hope, hope that her first child will be a strong boy. And I bring this gift, to you and your family, as a pledge of my loyalty..."

Domaric accepted the present with a fatherly smile. "I am glad to see you too, James. But, uh, aren't you going to introduce your boy...?"

"Ah, yes." The bigger man looked about, as if unable to locate his son, before beckoning the boy over. "Julian..."

The boy, who, Domaric noticed, was about the age of his own youngest son, showed no sign of his father's nervousness. He bowed respectfully before the Don, and said evenly, "I, too, pledge my loyalty to my father's master."

"I am pleased," replied Domaric. He patted James on the shoulder. "Your son follows your footsteps. That's good, that's good."

"Yes." The big henchman's frame relaxed slightly as he spoke of his son. "Julian is young, but already experienced. He will make an excellent soldier for you, Don Domaric. I have but one son, but, like you, I've taught him to learn our trade..."

"Like me!" Domaric felt a moment of sorrow through his icy soul. "Yes, uh, that's very fine. I'm sure the son would be much like his father." His gaze traversed the room and caught Grantuck's eye. The advisor moved forward as the Don said to his visitors, "I am sorry, James, but I must attend to other things now. Please, go back to the party. Enjoy yourselves." Once the pair had gone, Domaric spoke crossly to Grantuck. "Where is Medion? And Arrawnt?"

Grantuck bowed. "Medion has arrived, and is enjoying the party. Arrawnt, ah, is enjoying the party too, though a bit more privately than the others." The Don frowned disapprovingly, and he quickly added, "But Mageron would like to see you now, if that's ok."

Domaric smiled, his displeasure melting away. "Sure, sure. Tell the boy to come in."

Grantuck turned and motioned to the guard, who promptly escorted Mageron in. In the dim light of the cool chamber he seemed subdued and uncertain, even a little fearful. Nothing like his flamboyant look onstage, reflected Domaric. Nonetheless he strode forward and enfolded his son in an affectionate embrace. "How is my big star?" He pinched Mageron's cheeks, then said proudly to Grantuck, "He's come all the way from Saraband to be with the family, when he could be performing for all those fans who adore him, and making a fortune. Just like how I taught all of you—a real man puts family ahead of everything. Go on, get your brother a glass of wine. And find Arrawnt, I need to talk to him after this."

He resumed his seat and waited while Mageron finished the refreshment, feeling a bit of true pride dispelling the earlier sadness. James was proud of his child, and the Don had every reason to feel the same. Arrawnt and Grantuck had a mind for the family business, and could be counted on to continue his work. Mageron found his calling in being an entertainer, but that was fine too, so long as he remembered his roots. Domaric's only disappointment came from his youngest boy, Medion. Unlike his siblings, he'd learned all the wrong things in the academy. He'd learned to think outside of the family, to consider that his loyalty lay first in his counrty. Domaric remembered the day Medion boldly announced that he was leaving the academy and joining the army, to help fight against marauding bandits from eastern nations. He remembered his rage, and the feeling of utter helplessness, for on a battlefield even the might of a Don was of little use. To Domaric, who didn't believe in anything outside of the family, it was clear that Medion had became a lost cause. And it tore him up inside, for Medion, level-headed and smart, was the son he'd ultimately wanted to have running the family businesses.

But then again, perhaps that was for the best. By training his son to be a mercenary like him, James was probably dooming Julian to a bloody death in battle. Domaric himself lived his days knowing there were people who'd rejoice to see him murdered, and understood that this was the pressure Arrawnt would someday face as well. Maybe, by allowing his favorite son to decide his own destiny, he was giving Medion the greatest gift a Don could grant: freedom.

"Father," Mageron began, snapping Domaric out of his reverie. "It's good to see you and mother so healthy and happy."

"Yes," replied Domaric with a slight smile. "And your brothers, and their family—they're all here today as well. It is indeed a blessing, especially for an old man, to know his loved ones are well. But uh," he added shrewdly, "You didn't abandon the admiring girls in the sunny courtyard just to compliment your old man. You are in trouble again, and need help—no?"

Mageron looked embarrassed, but also relieved that his father had spared him of bringing it up himself. He sighed wearily. "Yes, Father. I could really use your aid, again." He glanced at Domaric's waiting frown, glanced down at his hands, then looked about nervously. When his father still declined to comment, he took a deep breath and began: "I can't stay in Saraband anymore, pops. Some unpleasant things have happened, and I...it would be inconvenient, even damaging, to my career if I stayed. So I want to start performing in a different city, with different people."

The Don regarded him with some surprise. "But how could that be difficult for you? You, uh, are very popular, and well-admired. It should be no trouble finding other suitable places."

"No," conceded Mageron. "But there is a place I have my heart set on—I want to go to Storich. It's a great place, pops, just like Saraband, only Saraband is a harbor and Storich is a major train station. There'll be all sorts of people coming to hear me sing, you know. It'll be great, and I'll become even more successful...it's perfect for me, pops."

"So what's the problem?" Domaric prodded.

"The owner of the Storich bars has something against me," confessed Mageron. "And he's a good friend of the Storich mayor's. He is determined to keep me from ever setting foot in that town, pops. He's...set on seeing me go down."

"That would never happen while you're my good son," promised Domaric, but with a meaningful look in Mageron's direction. He never missed a chance to emphasize how important blood ties and loyalty was to him. Distantly he wondered how Medion could've forgotten, or ignored, all those lessons. "But I am, uh, confused. Mageron, what does this Storich barkeeper have against you?"

The singer flinched noticeably. "The unpleasant things I mentioned, the happenings in Saraband...he took it rather personally, pops."

The Don's steady gaze did not waver. "Explain."

Mageron looked about uncomfortably again, but knew there was no concealing things from his father. "I...had an affair with a girl he liked. Liked a lot, actually." He breathed heavily, put his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do, pops."

Grantuck understood Arrawnt well enough to find him even when his wife didn't have any idea where he's run off to. In any case, the panting sound emitting from the locked bedroom on the top floor was clue enough.

He knocked on the door. Immediately the sounds stopped, though Grantuck distinctly heard an additional feminine whimper at the end. He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Arrawnt, it's me. You in there?"

There was a pause, then his brother's annoyed voice. "What do you want?"

"Father wants to see you, Arrawnt," Grantuck informed him. He waited for a reply, and, when he didn't get one, added, "I'll be downstairs. Better come down in a few minutes, or when you're done...whichever is first." The advisor turned and started down the steps.

He'd hardly reached the middle before the sounds started again, this time in earnest.

To his surprise, though, Arrawnt appeared behind him shortly afterwards. Domaric's eldest son looked flushed and sweaty, but smiled confidently as he followed Grantuck into the Don's room. As Grantuck turned to shut the door, he saw the girl Arrawnt had been with—Brigit, childhood friend of their sister Isabella—descend the stairs, giggling to herself and buttoning her clothes. She managed to throw a wink in his direction before he closed the door firmly.

"I can't believe you," he murmured to his brother.

Arrawnt grinned broadly. "Sometimes I surprise myself too."

They both turned as Domaric rose from his seat, seemingly irritated. The Don patted Mageron's cheek in a rough manner. "Don't know what to do? You can act like a man! What, have all the singing and dancing turned you into a sniveling woman? Now," he shot a loaded glance at Arrawnt, "I know you'll turn out fine, because you still spend time with your family. Inside you're still a man, alright. So you don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Mageron shook his head dejectedly. "It's too late, pops. Once the Storich mayor issues the order that I not be allowed to visit Storich, my reputation will be marred. It's too late..."

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," was the Don's firm and final answer. Mageron nodded, understanding, as his two waiting brothers did, the deadliness of their father's determination. He shook hands with Arrawnt and Grantuck on his way out.

Grantuck watched expectantly as Domaric motioned Arrawnt over. The Don, however, did not speak a word about his successor's infidelity, choosing instead to go straight to business. "When does Isabella leave with the groom?"

Arrawnt bowed respectfully. "As soon as the family portrait is done, father."

"Is Medion ready?"

"I'll find him as soon as we go down," promised Arrawnt. "Um, pops—what position should we appoint Crewart in the family business? Now that he's in-law..."

Domaric frowned. "Let him make a good living, so he can take care of my daughter—but do not discuss family business with him, ever. In-laws are not family, not to me." He motioned Grantuck over. "I want you to start for Storich tonight."

The advisor laughed in surprise. He should have known even a wedding wouldn't guarantee a long holiday. "Why Storich?"

"I want you to talk to this, uh, bartender boss Mageron offended. I'll have a couple of our people right behind you, in case he doesn't like our proposal. And I want you back quickly, because we'll be having a meeting with this uh, young man called Braff next week." He looked around, and for a moment looked tired and old. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to go and enjoy my daughter's wedding."

The family portrait was done in the stately main courtyard. Medion smiled joyfully when he saw his family—Domaric, Melinda, Arrawnt, Grantuck, Mageron and Isabella—standing already before the artist. They all seemed to be waiting for him. Even the new brother-in-law, Crewart, was nodding in his direction. Out of a sudden impulse he took Synbios's hand. "Come on, let's go."

She started, then blushed. "Oh Medion, not me too."

He winked at her. "This way we won't have to do another portrait when we...when we get married."

Her nervous but happy giggle was like music to his ears. Together they ran to where the others were waiting.