âThe Ashmark, the ancestral seat of the House WesterlyâŚcommonly shortened to West. It is our home, and our home has been stolen from us, Edric. It is inhabited by thieves without mind for morality.â
âWhat does that mean, Lord Father?â
âIt means, my child, that we are to take it back one day. The legacy of my father and his father before him is desecrated every second those beasts rest within its walls.â
âButâŚwhat if they arenât bad? What if they just want to live there?â
The elder frowned. âEdric. What did I say about questions?â
The child hung his head, a mop of blonde hair hanging low over his face. âSorry, Lord Father.â
The raven haired man tilted his head. âGo, child. It is time you studied with the Headmaster.â, and with that final wordâŚthe young blonde haired child scurried off to the halls of Castle Highstar. To the headmaster.
âOne day, youâll understand.â, Lord West turned his gaze out of the window. âOne day Iâll make you understand.â
Edric snapped awake, the aftermath of the siege of Ashmark. A slaughter. The Davice troops ran through the undead like a wave of righteous furyâ a fury decades in the making. The Inquisitor found himself staring up at the keep with the rest of the retinue left to their officers.
Edric knew what would be waiting for him in these halls. A shadow of the father he grew up with. The Lord Richard West. The legend who destroyed House Highstar and seized the Helm for himself at the age of nineteen, now defeated at his, noâŚtheir ancestral home.
Slowly Edric made his way through the barren Castle Ashmark, sheathing the sword Mercy at his waist. The halls decrepit and the tattered banner of the silver lion running rampant hung on every wallâŚthis was the end. The end of an era. Stairs that ran for what seemed to be an eternity, like climbing a mountain. Dread encompassed his conscience.
What would he say? He was victorious. Would he gloat? No. He would prove he was right. That was a victory far crueler than deathâŚthe first thing Richard taught Edric. To kill an enemy is a victory, but it is far more cruel to prove you are right. Edric arrived at the Lordâs quarters.Â
He would be here. Edric reached for the door and opened it.
Not a day over forty, a man with a full head of short cut raven hair and sickly, glowing yellow eyes turned to address Edric. He set down his glass of wine and stood, tall and thin. Clad in finery colored black, silver and red. Unflinching, unbreaking eye contact was met and a heavy silence fell upon the air.
The Lord finally spoke. âThe Sunset Sword.â, he addressed his son in mock reverence. âIt is to you that I owe this defeat, I take it. My son.â
Edric narrowed his gaze. âIt is.â
Richard inclined his head once. Retrieving another wine glass and pouring out half a glass in each of the two on the table. âLet us speak, one last time. Not as enemies, but as father and -son-.â, the Forsaken Lord, taking his seat at the table.
Edric silently approaching, taking his own seat but not touching the glass. Staring into Richardâs eyes, a furrowed and hate filled gaze filling his unnatural eyes the color of amber.
Richard scoffed. âI know what you are, poisons are futile.â, he mused, nursing a sip of wine. âYouâre here to kill me. I know. Vengeance for what I did to you, how I raised you. I wonât make excuses nor appeal to your conscienceâbecause I know your intent by the look in your eyes. Let me speak my final wordâ and then carry on my sentence.â
Edric blinked. Words escaped him at that very moment, he had to consider what he saidâŚalways, even now. Even when his father was his enemy and he had the powerâŚhe was still powerless. âSpeak.â, Edric resigned.
âYou defeated my forces twice. Both times when I possessed the advantage. Stanielâs teachings, I suspect. Alasâ I am more impressed with -you-. Iâve never seen such focus, dedication in a battle commander. And such hatred, for the Light to award you with such power in knowledge of how you wield it? Youâve made a cosmic power a weapon against me, a weapon that has rendered countless of my kind dead.â, he cleared his throat, and nursed another sip of wine and leveled an ivory finger.
âYou were never like that sniveling coward of a brother of yours, Arthurion. Even when you were young I saw a hatred that you channeled into focus in everything you did. Reading. Swordplay. Even Ballet, to my disapproval. You were willing to do what was necessaryâ stabbing Erik Norwood in the heartâŚwatching the love of your life, rendered a corpse and nailed to a cross in a red cloak. Not even a tear. I knew at that moment in Fury Keep, I chose the wrong son to invest in.â
Edric grit his teeth, fury encompassing his expression. His fist clenched tight as the Light pooled outâ ready to lash out and destroy this being he called Lord Father. Face twisted in angerâ Edric had never felt such rage, and the sword Mercy begged him at the back of his mind to draw the truesilver sword and bring it down in all its wrath upon him. But no. Restraint was the keyâŚvictory would not belong to Lord Richard West.
Richard smirked, a smile that cut like a knife on a face much like Edricâs own. âYou have handed me my first and second losses in my entire lifetime. You have learned well, my son. NowâŚlet me teach you one final lesson. Empires are built atop centuries of murder, and yourâs, my child? Your empireâs first stone will be laid upon my cold corpse. I am only ashamed that I cannot watch you build it. I am so proud of you.â
Edric shot up from his chair and shot forth a bolt of piercing Light from an outstretched right hand. A bolt that hit Richard in the chest and sent him over his chair and into the floor with a single hole in his chest, leaving nothing but a smoldering corpse.
His breathing grew heavy, and his fist clenched tightly. Shaking violently. He slowly turned his eyes out toward the window. And there it wasâŚa figure standing among the hundreds of bodies on the Blackfeld. A single cloaked figure with yellow eyesâŚ
(( To be continued in part 2. âBrotherâs Bane.â ))
Honorable mentions: (( @gareththeknight for helping me with this arc. ))
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