Chapter 26 - The Netyarch

Aven’s head ducked down close to Jorak as he passed beneath a banner cutout of silvers streaming between two looming marble and stone shop rows. They fed into a road of cobble and smoothed gravel that remained slick with spray from the nearby river stretching below and filtering out into underground tunnels dipping off into the massive monstrosity that was Lake Halruaa.

As his head rose on the other side, he readjusted his grip on Lucian who slumped against him with wheezing breaths. Aven felt his arm squeeze beneath fingers and his gaze shifted down. “I’ve got you, just hold out a little while longer.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lucian exhaled, dull blue eyes meeting Aven’s. Even running a high fever, they were like ice chips. His clammy skin betrayed his illness, natural porcelain a softer shade of green.

He only seemed to look worse.

The barbarian felt his chest wrench. He disconnected his fingers from Jorak’s reins and quickly twisted them up in Lucian’s, raising the hand to brush over his lips. “Rest against me for now,” he uttered tenderly, shooting Kendyll a look. “We need to pick up pace.”

Kendyll’s horse tromped idly around a group of women passing and giggling amongst themselves. Each one in varying colored dresses with extravagant wigs styled into shapes.

“Halaraah is always busy, Aven. On horseback we have to be careful not to run into anything or anyone. It’s impossible to maneuver any quicker. Especially when we cross the bridge.”

“Another bridge? What other bridge?”

“The palace is located on the other side of that river in the heart of the city. There is only one bridge that connects it within the Promenade through Arbor Square.”

It went over his head. The names, the unnecessary paths. He clutched Lucian tighter as they continued through until the blonde winced.

“Aven,” Lucian warned, squirming to buy himself more room before dropping his head back to Aven’s chest. Every movement seemed to suck the life from him. “Any… tighter… and you’ll kill me yourself.”

“Sorry.”

Aven’s cheeks flared with heat as a thumb brushed tentatively down the other man’s arm. A soothing gesture. Lucian seemed to lean towards the touch, his weight shifting until it all at once fell slack.

He was pulled down to the left, a single arm connected with Jorak’s reins keeping Lucian from sliding right off onto the stone path. It jerked. The horse tossed his head as Aven fought to reaffirm his grip, nearly sending the three of them right into a merchant stall. A man leaped from out of the way, cursing to the gods, and Aven righted.

“Lucian!” his voice hissed out.

Kendyll quickly drew her horse up to their side. “Is he okay? What happened.”

“We don’t have time for this! I don’t give a damn about what’s in our way, I’m not here to sightsee! He needs that cure, Kendyll, we have to get him there. If I have to leave you behind I will.”

“No.” Kendyll ground her teeth together, wrapping her hands into the saddled grip of her horse. Her gaze swept off towards the horizon where a building amongst a sea of towers shot up into the sky. Massive and decadent. The streams of silver twisting up into the rooftops of the palace. Long, marble balconies and lounges attach to stained doors and windows that glistened silver and reflected color in the light.

She sucked in a breath and nodded Aven’s way. “Lets ride. Follow as close behind me as you can and don’t get anyone killed.”

Before he could object, Kendyll’s horse reared up, swiveling direction to charge forward down the remaining path leading up to the center bridge and Arbor Square. Nobles of all variants moved on leisurely strolls throughout, a host of performers set up in podiums and stages.

Aven barreled after the Lady of Halruaa as they tore through the district. The wind returned to sweep through curly locks, Lucian’s body pinned beneath encompassing arms. Jorak flew over the head of a ducking woman, her wig toppling back off the top of her head in a whisk of air.

Screams of confusion could be heard in their wake, but Aven pressed on. Faster. Hooves dug into the cobble road, the open sound of water roaring beneath a bridge spurring them through to the other side.

The palace drew nearer and nearer, nearly the size of the square they rode through. As they approached, the path changed. Fenced off with great twisting poles arranged into curls and strands, they weaved together, leaving only one entry. Marble ran with a hum of magic straight to the steps that sprawled open in a wide arc that grew larger near the platform at the top.

“Kendyll, tell the guards!” Aven called ahead.

She was at the steps before he was, swinging from atop the mare and landing with a click of boots to the ground. Guards lined the stairway, posted across the entry doors with great spears and swords gripped at their sides.

“Where is Netyarch Marcello?” Her voice lashes ahead, stirring their attention.

“The Netyarch is busy, ma’am. All visitants must sign up prior to a meeting. If you-”

His droning voice cut off as Kendyll marched up the steps, throwing back her hood to level him with a look. “Get my brother. Now.”

“M-my lady!” he paled, falling down onto a knee. “Netyarch Marcello is in a war council! He’ll be out shortly, I assure.”

By then, Aven joined them at the top of the stairs, Lucian folded bridal style in his arms with his head slumped motionlessly to the side. His breaths could scarcely be heard as they scraped out.

Kendyll gave only a passing look. “Take us to him, now. This is the Prince of Aeliorn and he needs our care. I don’t care where my brother is.”

The guard grimaced. “Yes my lady. As you wish.”

He rose up onto his feet, keeping straight composure as his comrades pressed their palms to pads beside the palace doors. Then seemingly by magic, they swung open, light scattering within.

The main entry from the solid stone doorway was a rounded room with extending staircases up to the second level overhang and multiple branches of doorways leading off in various directions. Beneath the stairs in the center of the room was a sitting area. Couches leaned on either side with everfull bottles of wine chilled at the middle table. Grand rugs of deep royal purple ran the length of the entry.

Bold.

The paintings that lined the wall were framed in silver, depictions of great magical battles throughout the time of history. On either side of the door rested two large stone statues. Their eyes glowed an active pink, taking the shape of armored soldiers. Aven was becoming more familiar with golems and the Netyarch seemed to love his.

Kendyll brushed inward, watching the way Aven eyed the dozens of doors offshooting from the single large room.

“Don’t worry,” she soothed. “As a Silvercrest, it’s impossible to become lost here. The palace is meant to be confusing. It’s part of the magical defense system it functions on. The paths and rooms tend to vary in different locations behind certain numbers of hidden barriers.”

“Sounds over the top.” “One can never be too safe, Aven. My family has an unfortunate history.” Kendyll moved onwards, passing between the center seating area to push through a doorway on the other side.

Navigating the hallways nearly gave Aven a headache trying to memorize. As promised, Kendyll knew exactly where she was going and he followed near aimlessly. He squeezed Lucian closer to his chest, letting the echo of their footsteps drown out the whispers of servants and nobles as they caught sight of their returned Lady.

He nearly ran directly into her as she stopped before a door, flanked by two more golems, these in the shape of behirs. The hall itself was open with windows on the left wall straight through. It was the dog curled up outside that drew his attention.

“Acheron!” Kendyll beamed out, throwing forward in time to rope her arms around the dog’s neck as it stood. It wasn’t the typical dog. Standing larger than most mutts, its fur was a fluffy, pure white, taking on more wolfish and bestial traits than usual.

His resounding bark held intelligence as his tongue raked up her cheek and she laughed before pushing back up. “Come on, take us to Marcello.”

“We’re following a dog?” Aven didn’t seem too fond of the idea of leaving Lucian’s life in the hand of a mutt.

“Not just any dog,” Kendyll said as she followed the white hound. “Acheron is a blink dog.”

Blink dog. Aven’s heard of them before. “Doesn’t look like one. Thought they were gold?”

“Consider them a breeding project. Not only that, but he’s Marcello’s familiar… don’t worry, Aven. We’ll reach him soon.”

They followed Acheron as he bounded through the palace, leading them on a path straight to Marcello. It ended at a pair of great ivory white doors, inscribed with runes on every inch that burned with arcane light. “He’s through here,” Kendyll breathed as she waved off the golems guarding the room. “Are you ready?”

Aven clutched Lucian tighter to him and nodded. “Take us in.”

There must have been a spell of silence cast upon the entrance, for as soon as they passed beyond the threshold they were met with a sea of voices. The room was magnificent. A great crystal chandelier dripped down from the ceiling, glowing with white hot candles that illuminated the entirety of the room.

Rows of velvet, cushioned seats spread out in a half circle across the back of the room, each one with an arching table sweeping before them filled with scrolls, parchments and books. The seats were raised ten feet from the ground, each row behind them rising higher and higher towards the ceiling, giving them all a perfect view of whomever might dare to stand before them.

Seated in each chair… they must have been members of the Council of Elders. The prime governing body and policy makers of Halruaa. They were all immensely diverse, in race and looks that have somehow managed to come together in order to govern their country..but not without issue.

They entered into the middle of a great argument amongst the elders.

“We cannot spare any more men!” One mage, bald, tattooed and garbed in red shouted. “We have far too much to contend with aside from petty banditry. If they cannot defend their own land, then perhaps they do not deserve to own it.”

“Is it not our responsibility to care for the lives of our citizens?!” Roared another. “Surely we can spare at least several to assist.”

“Every border we own is stretched thin!” Shouted a third. “Every man is required at their station. Imagine if the Crinti were able to infiltrate our lands once more! Who would they kill next?!”

A great clap of sudden thunder silenced the squabbling. Amidst the arguing and shouting, Aven hadn’t noticed the figure who stood in the center of the room at first.

He was tall and slim. Raven haired, and stood with a quiet, absolute authority. His staff still crackled with electricity as it was raised from the floor. “Are you telling me,” the man said. “That we are stretched so thin that we now cannot defend ourselves from both external and internal, Lord Fastrid?”

The first man that had spoken wrinkled his nose. “You remain alive, Netyarch Marcello,” he grunted. “I would imagine that would mean external threats have been successfully combatted.”

“And yet, you were only just describing how the western battalion of new recruits was nearly all but wiped out by a surprise attack - an attack of which I warned would occur, and you refused to listen.”

Fastrid’s face was burning red. “It did not seem likely that they-”

“This is no chess game. There are no rules. Every day, Lord Fastrid, we must expect a new evil. I promise you that the sudden affront of bandits our people face is not a convenience. They either prey on Halruaans knowing our armies are preoccupied, or have been sent by the enemy to tear us apart from within. But we will not allow them.”

He swept about to face the rest of the room, and Aven got his very first look at Netyarch Marcello. His face was fair. Handsome, with drawn, sharp features.

Robes of satin in harmonizing colors of royal purple, black and silver fell down his frame in intricate design. Sewn with the keenest of fingers to emulate a commanding presence. A cloak rippled out behind him with every movement, spanning out wide at his legs in a curled flare. At the center of his chest rested an amulet. It burned with a powerful glow, the frame and neck boasting beautiful coiled silver with a gemstone vibrant at its center. A symbol of leadership.

But the most glaringly noticeable characteristic the man held, was the eye patch that stretched across his face and over his right eye. The left, a stormy blue, swept out over the four hundred faces that peered down at him. “We are the greatest nation in all the realms,” Marcello called out. “We will not be bested by simple bandits looking to prey upon the weak. We will-”

Marcello’s voice died. He’d spun in a circle and his eyes had found the three of them, standing in the entrance. Aven and Lucian could have been invisible. His gaze barely scraped over them before it locked on Kendyll. Her eyes burned with tears.

Marcello took a step forward, as if to rush to Kendyll’s side before he thought better of it and collected himself. “…it seems we have guests. This meeting is now adjourned.”

All attention was now at the open door. First in fury, second in shock and then - joy.

“Is that the Princess?!” A councilman said as he pushed to his feet.

“It is! It’s Lady Kendyll!” Another shouted. “The Princess has returned!”

“Silence!” Lord Fastrid shouted. “We must attend with the task at hand before we-”

Fastrid was silenced himself by a withering glare from his Netyarch. He may have been pierced by an arrow, he fell at once to his seat, lips tightening in a frown. “This meeting,” Marcello repeated, slow. “Is adjourned. Lord Fastrid. Considering your fervour towards the matter at hand, I will allow you to oversee the construction of ten golems to be transported to the Nath. They will be sufficient enough to cover the thirty soldiers you will then direct to the villages under bandit fire.”

“But my Lord, I-”

“Is there a problem, Fastrid?”

Fastrid glowered at Marcello, old fingers gripping the table before him before his eyes at last peeled away. “…no, your majesty.”

“Good. You are all dismissed.”

Aven waited with baited breath as the old codgers slowly filed out of the room, muttering to one another as they bowed to Kendyll as they passed. “So good to see you, my lady.” “It’s a welcome to have you back, Princess.”

Marcello waited until they were alone. When the last council member finally left, closing the door behind him, he surged forward and tore his sister into his arms. Tight. Kendyll gasped out as tears finally pushed from her eyes and down her face as she melted into the embrace of her brother, fingers curving into his robes. “Marcello,” she sobbed, burying her face. “I’ve missed you so much…"

"Kendyll.” He said it as though he couldn’t believe it. “I was sure… I was sure the Crinti…” His voice was choked. He cut himself off as he kissed the top of her hair and drew away. A single tear ripped its way down his cheek as he pushed away locks of brown hair. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not dead,” Kendyll wiped her knuckles across her eyes. “I’m okay.”

Marcello’s bejeweled fingers found her shoulders. His eye searched her, before a tired smile found his lips. “…you grew. Kendyll… a year, where have you..”

She responded with a swift hug. “I’ll tell you. Marcello, I promise I’ll tell you everything but… Lucian needs help..”

Lucian. For the first time, Marcello seemed to register his guests. His eye fell to Lucian and it widened a moment before he looked to Kendyll with a frown. “…you know we don’t do business with Aeliorn anymore,” he said. “We can’t help him."

"You have to!” Aven staggered forward, Lucian’s head swaying limp in his arms. “Please. We’ve come all this way-"

"Aeliorn is no longer an ally with Halruaa,” Marcello said. “I can’t help every person that comes through my-"

"Marcello.” Kendyll materialized in front of her brother, her hand on his cheek. “…Lucian and Aven saved me from the Cowled Mages.”

He stared at her, stunned. “The Cowled…” His head snapped to Aven. “Is this true?”

Aven nodded. “It is. We infiltrated Spellhold Asylum and freed the mages captured there… along with your sister.” He grimaced and pulled Lucian close. “…the Prince even lost his life in the endeavor.”

“Well,” Marcello said with a click of his tongue. “He seems to be quite alive at the moment.”

“He’s been poisoned.” Aven grit his teeth. Frustration. Desperation. “Please. We’ll do anything.”

It wasn’t Aven’s begs that finally made the Netyarch relent. It was his little sister, with her fingers coiled into his sleeve and looking up at him, pleadingly. Marcello sighed and pushed strands of black hair back. “…okay. We’ll do what we can. I expect for you to explain to me what’s happened, Kendyll, but for now…follow me, and quickly.”

Aven nearly fell in relief. Marcello drew away from Kendyll at last. His boots clicked against the marble flooring of the palace. “Poisoned, you say? With what?”

“The Tears of Midnight.” Kendyll’s steps were in sync with her brother’s, head up as if naturally mimicking Marcello’s motions. “He’s been ill for several days. If he remains in this condition for one more night…"

“I understand.” Marcello guided them through the palace, hallways passing swiftly and staff turning their heads as the group pushed through. They reached what could only be a private infirmary. The walls were lined with shelves adorned with books on divine healing, potions and ingredients. "Lay him here. Kendyll, find Armell Heron. He’s the finest healer we have. He will know how to deal with this.”

Kendyll was gone in an instant. Marcello stepped back to lean against the wall, arms folded over his chest as Aven tenderly lay Lucian down. The form in his arms was far too still as he was lain onto the comfortable bed - until a hand grasped Aven’s.

Clammy. Cold.

Lucian’s eyes opened. They swam as they fought to find Aven’s face, the whites tinted with red. “Aven,” Lucian’s voice rattled, squeezing Aven’s hand.

Aven’s heart twisted in his chest. He sat at the Prince’s side and laced their fingers. “Shh… I’ve got you..”

“It hurts.” Lucian seemed surprised by his own admission. It was his first clear declaration of any kind of weakness, uncaring that Marcello Silvercrest, a rival, stood right there.

“I know,” Aven dipped his head and brushed his lips to Lucian’s knuckles. “You’ll be okay.."

Over Aven’s shoulder, unseen and unnoticed, Marcello studied the two with a small frown. His attention was deviated when a man swept into the room. “Armell,” Marcello said. “It’s good to see you. We need your skills.”

“You have them, your majesty.” Armell Heron wore crimson robes of a servitor of Mystra, bearing her holy symbol - a silver flame wreathed in 7 stars - on his chest. His brown moustache was braided with golden beads, dusky eyes sharp and immediately locked upon Lucian. Kendyll entered right behind him. “What seems to be the problem?”

Marcello motioned to Lucian. "The Prince of Aeliorn has been inflicted with the Tears of Midnight.”

“A ma l’ila K'ush'ip'a,” Armell murmured. He sat down beside Lucian, tilting his head back to get a good look at him after shooing Aven away. “Yes, I can see the signs. Young man, you’re lucky to have come to me, he is nearly beyond my skill."

"Nearly?” Aven said.

Armell swiftly moved to the shelves to pluck up a vial. He returned and supported Lucian’s head, dribbling a vial of potion down his throat. Even unconscious and clinging to life, Lucian gagged at the foul taste before finally swallowing and his head awas lowered back.

“Nearly,” he repeated. “I believe I may be able to save him. But I’m not certain. By dawn, we will know whether his vitality will surpass the toxicity.”

Aven didn’t answer. He simply reclaimed his spot beside the Prince and clung on to him. Marcello cleared his throat. “What do I owe you for your service?” He asked. “It is much appreciated."

Armell’s hand touched his shoulder. "Nothing, your majesty. It is my duty to serve and advise you.”

“Then I suppose all there is to do is wait, then. Aven, is it?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“If you’d like, I can find you a room to-”

“No thank you.” Aven tore his gaze up. “I’d like to stay here with Lucian, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course.” Awkward. Everything about this seemed awkward to the Netyarch as he cleared his throat. “…come, Kendyll. We’ll leave them be… you should be resting..”

“All right. Aven..” Kendyll drew over to Aven and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Lucian will be all right, I promise.”

Aven sent her a tired smile. “I know.”

The door closed. After several more administrations of several drugs, potions and spells, Armell Heron too was gone and they were at last alone.

Aven lay behind Lucian, drawing him into his chest. The room was dead silent, save for the rattles of Lucian’s breaths. He squeezed the Prince’s hand. “You’re awake."

"…how many more times must you lay by my bedside before this is over," Lucian whispered, eyes closed and voice coarse.

"As many times as I need to.” The warmth that radiated off of Lucian’s body made his head spin with anxiety. “Hopefully what you were given clears this up…I need you.."

"Need.” Lucian coughed and scoffed. “I don’t like it when you say that."

"What do you mean..?"

"Need,” Lucian murmured. His voice was faint. “All you need is the breath in your..in your lungs.."

His breaths evened. Asleep. Aven pressed his lips to the back of Lucian’s neck and grit his teeth. “Wake in the morning,” he whispered. “Please..”

————————————————

Night fell over Halruaa. Strange bugs with bulbous lights bounced outside of windows, twinkling and filling the courtyard like fallen stars. Marcello found his way through the halls, having shed his outer robes and cloak for a simple cotton tunic that furled down like a blanket over his abdomen.

Boots clicked against the interior floor, everburning lights casting a warm glow of a shadow down over doorways as he passed them. The day still processed at the back of his mind like a dream that had yet to feel real. His sister was home, and on top of it, for the first time in years, Lucian Arceneaux lay at his mercy. Marcello would milk it for all its worth.

He stopped short in one of the four adjoining towers of the palace, letting his gaze sweep the two posted guards flanking either side of a door. “Evening.”

“Good Evening, Netyarch Marcello,” they replied in respectful bows.

The Netyarch eased aside them, raising his fist to the door and rapped twice against it. He waited, listening for movement within before knocking again. “Kendyll?”

Marcello tried the doorknob, twisting until he felt the door give and used his shoulder to ease it open. The bedroom was dimly lit by a single candle hovering upon the bedside table. Curtains fountained down like a blanket around the support beams of the bed, balcony doors open to the warm night air as it rushed in among rolling breezes.

Kendyll lay on one side of the bed, twisted up in bedsheets with even breaths carrying her through sleep.

His sister.

He drifted over, delicately lowering to the edge of the bed and drew his fingertips through his sister’s freshly washed, mouse brown hair. The girl stirred beneath Marcello’s touch and he loosened his hold, instead bowing to push his lips against her forehead.

Kendyll had grown thinner in her year’s absence, but she still smelled exactly like home. As he drew back, his gaze met tired, stormy blue eyes that matched his own.

“…Hey,” she whispered.

“Sorry for waking you. I just-”

“Marcello, no.” His sister pushed up on an elbow, throwing her arms around his neck. He was nearly pulled over onto the bed with her, fingers seeking to tangle into her hair as his face pushes to the nape of her neck.

A breath shattered in his chest. “What happened to you Kendyll? You mentioned the Cowled Mages and I’ve been trying to be patient, but you were gone for a year. Right after Theseus died… you were gone. I’ve been alone.”

Kendyll sat back, sweeping his hands up in hers and giving a squeeze.

“You’re never alone, Marci. You know that…” She sighs. “I just wanted to do something with myself. We lost so much so quickly. Mom and dad… Theseus. I needed to get out of it and be something. I knew you wouldn’t help me with the Cowled Mages so I went on my own. It was stupid, I know.”

Marcello rubbed his thumb over her knuckles in thought. “And what after? How does-” his nose wrinkled, “-How does Lucian Arceneaux play any hand in this? He’s a cold blooded snake.”

The girl’s gaze softened on her brother.

“What you did for him…”

“What I did for you,” Marcello quickly corrected. “Make no mistake, Kendyll, if he does survive, I want him out of my palace immediately.”

“Marcello hold on just a minute.” She delivered another squeeze to his hands, stalling him before he could make his own assumptions and decisions. “He’s come a long way. At first I could barely believe it myself. He’s still… flawed. But so is everyone. He mounted the attack on Spellhold with only himself, Aven, and the Mindulgulph. They sacrificed everything to get inside. That doesn’t scream cold blooded to me.”

Marcello drew his hands free and pushed them through his hair with a scoff. “Who is that Aven anyways? He looks like a brute, not any noble I’ve seen.”

“I think that’s complicated at the moment. But he started as Lucian’s slave. Now it’s more of a partnership. They have feelings for another.”

“Apparently. Look, I have no doubt in my mind Lucian is just using the man for his own personal gain. People don’t change, Kendyll, let alone go through an entire transformation.”

“You changed. You weren’t always this jaded, Marci. I know you aren’t stupid, open your eyes, you saw how they acted. It’s clear something has changed.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed up, absently beginning to order the books piled on her nightstand to deflect the conversation. “It was surprising. That’s it.” Marcello turned his gaze onto his sister. “In the morning, I’ll have the Castellan bring you a larger breakfast than normal. We’ll see if we can’t get your strength back. He’s been worried sick too, you know.”

Kendyll knew what her brother was doing, but let it rest. A breath fluttered past her lips and she settled back beneath her blankets. “The Castellan,” she whispered fondly, seeming to hold it with a bit more weight. As if she knew something no one else did. “Don’t worry, I’ll speak with him too.”

“Good. The blasted man can now fret over you instead.”

She laughed. “He’s been doting, hasn’t he?”

“Like a suffering mother with empty nest syndrome. The man has served our family for generations, and somehow I think he’s singled me out to consistently nag.”

“He’s worried about you too, then, idiot. I can understand. You look exhausted too, Marci. Have you slept much recently? Been eating? Don’t you dare let being Netyarch ruin you. I know it wasn’t your choice.”

He waved a hand and smothered the candlelight. “Alright, before you start nagging me too, get some sleep. I’m fine. What you should be worried about is yourself and if we’ll be waking up to a dead Prince of Aeliorn or not. I’ve heard he’s turned into a traitorous rebel. Perhaps we’d be handsomely rewarded.”

“Marcello!”

“Right right! Oh for Mystra’s sake, Kendyll. It’s just humor. Goodnight.”

Even through her defiant pout, a smile shone in the dark. “Goodnight.”