“Very well. He’s in the study.” The steward turned and led the guards and Marcus to the estate.
Baron Kalinor looked up from his desk as the doors to his study opened. Surprise and anger colored his expression, for he’d left instructions not to be disturbed. He was a slim man, approaching middle age, and his brow and the corners of his mouth were lined.
The desk itself was a massive mahogany construction, stained to bring out the grain of the wood. Armchairs sat on the opposite side of the desk from Kalinor, and they were upholstered in a checkered design in the orange and black that were the family’s colors.
“Who do you think you are, barging in here?” the Baron said as he pushed up out of his chair. “I’ll have that worthless steward strapped for this!”
“You’ll do no such thing, Kalinor,” Marcus said as he walked across the study and sat in one of the chairs facing the Baron’s desk. “If you so much as speak harshly to anyone on your staff regarding my arrival, the next time you see me, I won’t be so pleasant.”
“How dare you! The King shall hear of this!”
“That worthless toad can roast on a fiery spit in Lornithar’s Abyss for all I care,” Marcus said, “and you may feel free to tell him I said so.”
Kalinor sputtered in rage but said nothing coherent.
“Some days ago, a Vushaari slave escaped from this estate,” Marcus said. “You will transfer ownership of her to me and cancel the handbill advertising a reward for her return.”
“That one is the finest slave to be found in Tel. Why in the name of the gods would you believe I’d just give her away?”
Marcus lifted his right hand and cupped it as if he were holding an apple or orange. A slight tightening around his eyes was the only indication of his effort. A small pinprick of light appeared in the air above his right palm, and within a few moments, an orb of roiling, seething power the color of gold hovered in the air.
“You’ll do it because it’s in your own best interests,” Marcus said. “You should consider these family names: Koska, Layfarn, Gwidell, Pertalla…just to name four.”
“Who?” Kalinor said, frowning. “I’ve never heard of those families.”
“Exactly.”
Kalinor snorted and sat in his chair, leaning forward. “You would have me believe you wiped them out? Over what? Slaves?”
Marcus allowed the orb of power to dissipate, and he leaned back in the armchair. “No, of course not. The royal family had not yet reinstituted the abhorrent practice when those families met their demise. Koska was a wizard House shortly before the death of Bellock Vanlon; the matriarch was advancing a plot to destroy the Great Houses of Tel. Layfarn was a merchant family of some moderate success, about a hundred years after Bellock’s death, until they decided to branch out into kidnapping for hire and took a contract on a mage’s child. Gwidell was…well, let’s say they were a rather depraved bunch and had the poor taste to start stealing children because of those tastes; that was…oh…about a thousand years before the death of Bellock Vanlon. The Pertalla Family…they tried to destroy the Compact of Dakkor and would not see reason; that was only three-hundred-fifty years ago or so.
“Kalinor, you will write out a Transfer of Ownership of the Vushaari slave known as Kiri, and you will leave the new owner’s name blank. I shall see to that. You will do it now, and you will speak to no one of our discussion.”
Kalinor leaned back in his own chair for several moments before leaning forward once again. When he spoke, he tapped his finger on his desk for emphasis. “You’re a daft fool if you think I’m going to sign over ownership of my finest piece because you walked in the door and spouted off some random nonsense.”
A dark smile curled Marcus’s lips. “I was hoping you’d see things my way, Kalinor. You see, personally, I’d just as soon kill you and be done with it, but I will be training a new apprentice soon. As I must be a role-model for him, I’m no longer free to go about the countryside doing as I wish.”
Marcus lifted his left hand and snapped his fingers. The study’s door opened, and the steward entered. “You called, milord?”
“Yes,” Marcus said. “Kalinor has seen fit to reject my offer of life. Gather those of the household you’re willing vouch for and take them away. Any who are direct blood relation to the baron are exempt from my pardon. I will complete my business here and meet you in Tel Mivar.”
“Now, see here!” Kalinor said. “You can’t just-”
Marcus turned to face him and said, “Be silent. You lost all say in this when you rejected my request.”
“Who do you think-”
Marcus invoked a Word, “Khraexar.” Kalinor froze mid-speech. His eyes moved, and he still breathed, but he was paralyzed otherwise.
“Much better,” Marcus said, turning to the steward. “Do you understand your instructions?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Very well then,” Marcus said. “Be quick. This estate has little time left.”
The steward turned and reached for the door latch with his left hand. Doing so drew back the sleeve on that arm and revealed a strange tattoo at the man’s wrist. Marcus smiled as he remembered the day he had designed it.
Marcus stood and approached Kalinor’s desk. He rifled through the drawers until he found parchment of suitable quality and laid it atop the desk. Marcus then took the pen and dipped it in the inkwell before holding it over the parchment and tapping the pen to litter drops of ink across the parchment. That done, Marcus tossed the pen aside.
He took a deep breath and placed his hand on Kalinor’s brow, just before he invoked another Word, “Zyrhaek.” Unlike the Word that paralyzed Kalinor, this was a Transmutation. Kalinor’s eyes widened as he watched the ink on the parchment squirm and shift into words…words in his own hand no less!
I hereby transfer ownership
Of
the Vushaari slave known as Kiri
To
Gavin Cross
In the interests of clearing a great debt.
Signed by my hand, this 3 rd Day of Bilfar
In the 6080 th year of our victory in the Godswar
Marcus nodded his satisfaction at the result and picked up some sealing wax, dribbling a little bit below the words ‘Kalinor, Baron of Tel.’ It was then a simple matter to remove Kalinor’s signet from his hand, place it on his own finger, and press it into the cooling wax.
“And we’re done,” Marcus said as he folded the document and slipped it inside his robe. He walked around Kalinor’s desk and approached the study’s door. As he grasped the door latch, Marcus turned to face the room’s other occupant.
“Kalinor, as much as I once would have preferred to leave you alive and paralyzed to experience firsthand the flames that will soon consume your estate, I am no longer that cruel…despite what some would say of me. Besides, I’ve grown to detest the practice of burning people alive. After you’ve done it a few times, you never want to do it again.”
Marcus invoked two Words at once, blending them together to create a composite effect, “Rhosed-Thraxys.” The first invocation dispelled the paralysis; the second killed Kalinor outright. Marcus turned and left the study. The sound of the heavy oak door closing coincided with the dull thud of Kalinor’s head hitting the desk.
Marcus left the manor and walked across the yard. He noticed all the guard towers within sight were still manned; the steward must not have thought much of Kalinor’s soldiers. Without stopping or saying a word to the guards above the gate, Marcus opened the gate and walked through, not bothering to close it behind him. The guards shouted something, but Marcus paid them no mind.