Post by Eurydice on Apr 16, 2008 14:52:16 GMT -5
((Very much a first draft, and there definitely needs to be more of an ending, but the basic idea is there, I think.
With due apologies to the bard.))
She strode down the main hall of her keep, her strides measured, precise, not a movement wasted, not a glance to anything that didn't demand her attention. Some speculated on the woman's true name, as she went by many, but in most circles, she was known simply as the Duchess, and wherever there was a necessity for secrets to be uncovered, she was hailed as a goddess. Her syndicate was rumored to span all of Anaura, buying and selling the whispered words of august monarchs, wise generals, and illegitimate businessmen with equal ease. The Duchess was clever, calculating, cold, and afraid of nothing; since the farthest reaches of living history in the criminal world, she had resided comfortably at the heart of things.
Easily keeping pace beside her was her second in command, a small, wiry elf who was called Lokiagar. His compact, muscular body was sheathed in rich black fabric, sparse gold embroidery splayed at the wrists and collar, and none of the dozen knives that he had on his person was visible to the naked eye. "For the record," he said, his voice taut and annoyed, "I still think this is a stupid idea."
She shrugged. "He'd have us believe we can't keep him out forever, and more importantly, he claims to know more than he's letting on. Ignoring him hasn't worked, nor have polite refusals. So, we take the next step."
"I could tell him you're busy."
"I am always busy."
"I could tell him you're sick."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't get sick, unless I've been poisoned; nobody's been stupid enough to try for my life for years now, and everyone who knows me knows that."
"I could tell him you're asleep?"
"Don't be absurd."
He exhaled sharply. "Look, with respect, milady, why don't you just tell him that you will not speak with him? This isn't some small time information brokerage anymore; you don't need to bother with low-lifes like this. He isn't worth your time, and I think you know that."
"I wish it were that simple, Loki. But stupid little annoyances have been turning into stupid big annoyances every day, and I'd just as soon nip this one in the bud." They were approaching her main audience hall, a large, sparse room that she reserved specially for meeting with people that she didn't like. "At any rate, this shouldn't take too long, and it'll be more effective, in the long run, than just ignoring him."
Lokiagar snorted. "Bullshit. You just want to toy with him."
"Well, a bit, yeah."
With a smirk, Loki held the door open for her. The audience hall was a stark room, austere and spotlessly white, with the accoustics of a large, marble bathtub. One was forced to either modulate one's voice dramatically or find one's every word, breath, and nervous cough ten times as audible as it would have been otherwise. It was a fun trick to play on intimidated newcomers. It was also a good gauge of a stranger's comfort level when he first came to speak with her. She and Loki had entered through one of the side doors, the doors that led to halls where one might move freely about the keep. The "front" door was a large, clean-cut, unadorned piece, several inches thick and heavily enchanted.
There were two men waiting patiently as Loki and the Duchess stepped in. The first was a tall, dark man, toughly built and wearing a look of perpetual scorn; his name was Relnin, a resourceful wizard that she employed as her chief of security. The second man was a wide-eyed, bespectacled red head, with awkward, lanky limbs hidden in the folds of a scholar's robes. This was Ghent, and although he was not a member of her staff here, nor, indeed, under her employ at all, he had been a faithful advisor to the Duchess since there had been a Duchess to advise.
She greeted the latter first; he was a guest in her house, and despite his visiting to offer counsel on a different matter, he had agreed to sit in on this meeting when it had suddenly come up. "Good morning, Ghent. Thank you again for being here for this." Inaudibly to Relnin and Loki, she added, Did you get a chance to check on the man out front at all? Muck around in his head a bit, get a feel for him?
The scholar bobbed a quick bow, his voice, as always, shy and nervous, as he restlessly adjusted his glasses. "Oh, of course, milady! N-no trouble, really, no trouble at all." Yes, milady, yes, of course. I don't think you missed much in your initial assessment of him, really, although I believe that his master is a tad more anxious for contact than he's letting on. I can give you more specifics once he's in here— I really think it'll be much easier to get a read off of him while you've got him talking.
"Relnin. Is he still out front, harassing the guards?"
"He's shut up a bit since we told him he'd be admitted, milady," Relnin said drily. "Also, it looks like he's been periodically in contact with his master, the Prince. No new information going in either direction, nor anything sensitive. Just waiting on word from you."
The Duchess nodded and looked to Loki. "Your men?"
"Moving into position as we speak, milady."
She exhaled softly and took her seat at the only adornment of the room, an ornately carved chair, jet black, at their end of the room. Clad in rich scarlet and gold, her position there threw her into sharp relief against the spotless white of the walls and the ebony chair. She was the sole focal point of the room; attention flew to her with the speed of earnest prayers flying to the ear of an attentive god. "Then show him in, and we'll see what Prince Orsino's man has to say for himself."
Loki bowed. "Milady." He turned smartly and strode towards the main door, deviating only to push past Ghent's personal space; as per their usual little dance, Ghent shrank back slightly at the elf's sharp approach, and Loki, wearing a look of smug triumph, left the room. Much chagrined, Ghent hurriedly retreated, metaphorical tail tucked firmly between his legs, to stand at the Duchess' right. Relnin was already positioned at her left, watching Loki and Ghent's interplay with undisguised amusement. The Duchess' demeanor betrayed nothing. She crossed her legs and regarded the main door imperiously.
It swung open to reveal Loki, leading in an effusive young man who couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Some might have called the man attractive, but to the Duchess, he looked so delicate and effeminate that she couldn't possibly think of him as anything other than a prissy child.
Seeing the woman seated at the opposite end of the room, the young man quickly stepped forward and swept an elaborate, ornamental bow, ending the little show on one knee. "Most radiant and exquisite beauty!" he exclaimed, ignoring the harsh, obnoxious reverberation that his boistrous voice sounded in the room. "My master, the humble and honored Prince Orsino, sends you his greetings and deepest gratitude for permitting this generous audience with his humble servant."
The urge to groan and roll her eyes was painfully difficult to resist. She wondered if she knew he had used the word "humble" twice in the same sentence. Oh gods, give me strength, she thought. It was going to be one of those days. She felt Ghent exhibit uncharacteristic self-control in not giving voice to the nervous giggle that echoed in her mind. And standing behind the young messenger, Lokiagar was giving her a pronounced look of I-told-you-so.
Well. No point in regretting her decision now. Time to find out what he knew and just be done with it. "Get up," she said, her voice soft, calm, and cold. "You're dirtying my clean floor."
The young man straightened with a flourish, not the least bit put off by his welcome. He beamed at her, grinning like the idiot he was. "But of course, your excellence! Your slightest request is my greatest pleasure to enact; Prince Orsino has no desire except to serve you."
"Is that why you were saucy at my gate, boy? I was told you insulted my guards very colorfully when they told you to leave."
Still he was not deterred by her frosty demeanor. "Oh please, fair Duchess; any rudeness I have expressed, I learned from your entertainment of my prince! And besides, such gatekeepers are merely meant to discourage the approach of the unworthy or underprepared who seek your attention without deserving it. My master is neither of these things." He waved a hand airly, with something that was probably supposed to look like worldly knowledge.
The Duchess uncrossed her legs and sat forward, eyes boring into the young messenger with such hard-edged focus that even he, dense as he was, finally seemed to notice. "You're not listening to me, little boy. You were saucy at my gate. My guardsmen are hand-picked from the best in the Tyrnese military, and you, in the height of ignorance, call them silly figureheads. I didn't bring you in here to listen to your pretty speeches; I brought you in here to wonder at you, wonder at the profound idiocy of a man who thinks that capricious name-calling is the way into a lady's house and into her favor, and to wonder what a prince who encourages such behavior in his underlings could possibly have to offer my court. Now, tell me what your master wants here and why he thinks that I should grant him the honor of serving me."
With considerable composure, the young messenger kept his wits about him, even as the color drained from his face. "Then... I suppose I'd better start over, shall I?" He straightened slightly, his coarsely-shod feet scraping loudly against the floor. "Prince Orsino sends you his greetings and requests that you once more consider his petition that his Bloodhound unit be employed in the security of your Dorian holdings. He hopes that their recent victories in the Ilqin Traverse serve as adequate demonstration of their abilities. And..." He coughed quietly; it echoed like a gunshot. "...he would like to know your thoughts on the matter as soon as is convenient to you."
"Better," she said nodding, "although not much." Ghent, what's he talking about with these recent victories? I haven't heard of any major civil conflicts in Sundar, recently.
The Ilqin Traverse seems to be some sort of... some sort of unruly alliance... in the b-black market, Ghent shot back, his gaze, slightly out of focus, directed at the young messenger's face, just above his eyes. It looks like they were threatening some sort of major offensive, and the Prince's men, um, uh, squelched it. V-very messily, it seems.
Alright. The silent exchange lasting less than a second, she continued aloud. "Your master's victories with the Ilqin sound very entertaining, but I don't need the service of a common butcher, nor a bully who goes out picking fights just to impress potential employers. My syndicate prides itself on subtlety, finess, not brute strength."
"But milady," the young man said with great confidence, "you are quite mistaken. Prince Orsino's Bloodhounds were introduced to the Ilqin Traverse undercover, penetrated their defenses with ease! There was nothing brute about it."
The Duchess pursed her lips. He's lying.
Oh yes, milady. Ghent shot her a detailed image of Orsino's men as they fought.
"You're a liar, boy, and I don't like liars that I haven't employed."
The young man coughed. "Milady..." he began, uncertainly.
She cut him off, drawing on the mental image again, her voice a bored drone. "Your master sustained some very substantial casualties in that fight. He planned it exceedingly poorly and only succeeded because he had surprise on his side. And with a half-crippled unit, he needs to ally himself with a stronger force so that he won't be slaughtered when the Ilqin Traverse has its revenge. Now, I ask you again, what can such a man possibly offer my cause?"
The pretty little man was shaking slightly, although it looked more from anger than nerves. Perhaps he had finally grown a backbone. "You are quite wrong, milady. Our numbers may have been reduced dramatically, but there are still enough of us left to seize hold of your secret stronghold in Alqualond. And we are very much prepared to do so, if you refuse our petition. Prince Orsino knows that this stronghold is not, perhaps, the most central to your operations, but he understands that he has some sentimental value to you." He gave her a pointed look.
Well. That was interesting. Ghent?
Bluffing, he replied, very decisive. He was told to threaten your holdings in Alqualond, if he thought it would help; the Prince's men are poised near Akrontion, but they really haven't a clue where to attack.
And Alqualond's "sentimental value"?
Bluffing as well, definitely. He doesn't know anything, milady.
Thank you ever so much, my dear. She smirked as her last comment prompted a definite mental blush from Ghent, who never knew how to deal with any sort of attention, and returned her attention to the messenger, suddenly tired of this game. He wasn't clever enough to mentally spar with her, and his employer wasn't interesting or powerful enough to toy with either. "What is your name, boy?"
"My...?" He blinked, as if unsure that she had heard his previous statement. "I'm called Cesario, milady."
"Very well, Cesario. Your master claims to respect my intelligence, yet he feeds me lies in order to gain my favor, and then he expects me not to be able to see through them. He offers me half a battle-weary regiment, claiming its dubious victories as speaking for its character, when my security in Doria is, as it is elsewhere, perfectly able without the assistance of your prince. As for you, I find you tiresome, and I find you insulting. You have a decently quick tongue and you can think on your feet, but like your master, you possess no useful talents that I couldn't buy elsewhere for much higher quality. That is my answer to the Prince Orsino. I am told he is virtuous, noble, even gracious, but he knows my mind on this matter, and it has not changed."
Young Cesario's face did not change, but the Duchess could feel fear and worry roiling right beneath the surface. "Milady," he said, voice taut, "do you mean to say that I will be sent back empty-handed—"
There was a dull, reverberating thud on the ceiling, followed by a dozen more in rapid succession, making the young man start in shock. "What the hell was..."
The sounds of impact were replaced with voices, thick, angry sounds of confusion, and a handful of abruptly curtailed screams, followed by another series of thuds. Then there were footsteps, and the sound of scraping that faded into silence. Loki was smiling thinly, and the Duchess didn't have to look back at Relnin to see that he was doing the same. Ghent seemed quietly unsettled.
"That, Cesario, was the slaughter of the warriors you sent to infiltrate my keep while we talked. We've been keeping an eye on them since you arrived." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she glanced at Loki. "And have no fears; I should not dream of sending you from this place empty-handed."
There was a blink of movement from Loki, and suddenly, a river of blood was spurting from Cesario's throat. Ghent let out a little gasp of shock, but aside from that and the sickening gurgle from the messenger as his life blood fled his body, the hall was silent. The twitching body sank to the floor, measuring out its ungainly length as deep red rushed out onto the clean white stone. The lithe little elf took out a square of cloth and absently wiped the spatter away from the keen blade in his hand. And that quickly, it was over.
The Duchess stood; she snapped her fingers once, and in a wispy wave of silver flowing from her hand, the bloody floor was once again spotless. "Leave the bodies where they'll be found."
"Yes, milady." Loki was withdrawing a large white sheet from a pile in the cabinet just outside of the room, stored there for such occasions, and he and Relnin went to wrap up Cesario's prone form. They could have asked their staff to take care of it, of course, but Loki liked the personal touch. There was something about death that demanded it. It was just no fun, otherwise.
Ghent was still looking faintly queasy about the whole affair, staring at Loki's turned back with a look of profound disgust, and the Duchess took him gently but firmly by the arm to lead him out. Loki had been right; it had been a stupid idea. But it was one more useless suitor she'd be rid of, and whether it had been the easiest way to handle things or not was pointless. She had plenty to do with the rest of her day.
With due apologies to the bard.))
She strode down the main hall of her keep, her strides measured, precise, not a movement wasted, not a glance to anything that didn't demand her attention. Some speculated on the woman's true name, as she went by many, but in most circles, she was known simply as the Duchess, and wherever there was a necessity for secrets to be uncovered, she was hailed as a goddess. Her syndicate was rumored to span all of Anaura, buying and selling the whispered words of august monarchs, wise generals, and illegitimate businessmen with equal ease. The Duchess was clever, calculating, cold, and afraid of nothing; since the farthest reaches of living history in the criminal world, she had resided comfortably at the heart of things.
Easily keeping pace beside her was her second in command, a small, wiry elf who was called Lokiagar. His compact, muscular body was sheathed in rich black fabric, sparse gold embroidery splayed at the wrists and collar, and none of the dozen knives that he had on his person was visible to the naked eye. "For the record," he said, his voice taut and annoyed, "I still think this is a stupid idea."
She shrugged. "He'd have us believe we can't keep him out forever, and more importantly, he claims to know more than he's letting on. Ignoring him hasn't worked, nor have polite refusals. So, we take the next step."
"I could tell him you're busy."
"I am always busy."
"I could tell him you're sick."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't get sick, unless I've been poisoned; nobody's been stupid enough to try for my life for years now, and everyone who knows me knows that."
"I could tell him you're asleep?"
"Don't be absurd."
He exhaled sharply. "Look, with respect, milady, why don't you just tell him that you will not speak with him? This isn't some small time information brokerage anymore; you don't need to bother with low-lifes like this. He isn't worth your time, and I think you know that."
"I wish it were that simple, Loki. But stupid little annoyances have been turning into stupid big annoyances every day, and I'd just as soon nip this one in the bud." They were approaching her main audience hall, a large, sparse room that she reserved specially for meeting with people that she didn't like. "At any rate, this shouldn't take too long, and it'll be more effective, in the long run, than just ignoring him."
Lokiagar snorted. "Bullshit. You just want to toy with him."
"Well, a bit, yeah."
With a smirk, Loki held the door open for her. The audience hall was a stark room, austere and spotlessly white, with the accoustics of a large, marble bathtub. One was forced to either modulate one's voice dramatically or find one's every word, breath, and nervous cough ten times as audible as it would have been otherwise. It was a fun trick to play on intimidated newcomers. It was also a good gauge of a stranger's comfort level when he first came to speak with her. She and Loki had entered through one of the side doors, the doors that led to halls where one might move freely about the keep. The "front" door was a large, clean-cut, unadorned piece, several inches thick and heavily enchanted.
There were two men waiting patiently as Loki and the Duchess stepped in. The first was a tall, dark man, toughly built and wearing a look of perpetual scorn; his name was Relnin, a resourceful wizard that she employed as her chief of security. The second man was a wide-eyed, bespectacled red head, with awkward, lanky limbs hidden in the folds of a scholar's robes. This was Ghent, and although he was not a member of her staff here, nor, indeed, under her employ at all, he had been a faithful advisor to the Duchess since there had been a Duchess to advise.
She greeted the latter first; he was a guest in her house, and despite his visiting to offer counsel on a different matter, he had agreed to sit in on this meeting when it had suddenly come up. "Good morning, Ghent. Thank you again for being here for this." Inaudibly to Relnin and Loki, she added, Did you get a chance to check on the man out front at all? Muck around in his head a bit, get a feel for him?
The scholar bobbed a quick bow, his voice, as always, shy and nervous, as he restlessly adjusted his glasses. "Oh, of course, milady! N-no trouble, really, no trouble at all." Yes, milady, yes, of course. I don't think you missed much in your initial assessment of him, really, although I believe that his master is a tad more anxious for contact than he's letting on. I can give you more specifics once he's in here— I really think it'll be much easier to get a read off of him while you've got him talking.
"Relnin. Is he still out front, harassing the guards?"
"He's shut up a bit since we told him he'd be admitted, milady," Relnin said drily. "Also, it looks like he's been periodically in contact with his master, the Prince. No new information going in either direction, nor anything sensitive. Just waiting on word from you."
The Duchess nodded and looked to Loki. "Your men?"
"Moving into position as we speak, milady."
She exhaled softly and took her seat at the only adornment of the room, an ornately carved chair, jet black, at their end of the room. Clad in rich scarlet and gold, her position there threw her into sharp relief against the spotless white of the walls and the ebony chair. She was the sole focal point of the room; attention flew to her with the speed of earnest prayers flying to the ear of an attentive god. "Then show him in, and we'll see what Prince Orsino's man has to say for himself."
Loki bowed. "Milady." He turned smartly and strode towards the main door, deviating only to push past Ghent's personal space; as per their usual little dance, Ghent shrank back slightly at the elf's sharp approach, and Loki, wearing a look of smug triumph, left the room. Much chagrined, Ghent hurriedly retreated, metaphorical tail tucked firmly between his legs, to stand at the Duchess' right. Relnin was already positioned at her left, watching Loki and Ghent's interplay with undisguised amusement. The Duchess' demeanor betrayed nothing. She crossed her legs and regarded the main door imperiously.
It swung open to reveal Loki, leading in an effusive young man who couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Some might have called the man attractive, but to the Duchess, he looked so delicate and effeminate that she couldn't possibly think of him as anything other than a prissy child.
Seeing the woman seated at the opposite end of the room, the young man quickly stepped forward and swept an elaborate, ornamental bow, ending the little show on one knee. "Most radiant and exquisite beauty!" he exclaimed, ignoring the harsh, obnoxious reverberation that his boistrous voice sounded in the room. "My master, the humble and honored Prince Orsino, sends you his greetings and deepest gratitude for permitting this generous audience with his humble servant."
The urge to groan and roll her eyes was painfully difficult to resist. She wondered if she knew he had used the word "humble" twice in the same sentence. Oh gods, give me strength, she thought. It was going to be one of those days. She felt Ghent exhibit uncharacteristic self-control in not giving voice to the nervous giggle that echoed in her mind. And standing behind the young messenger, Lokiagar was giving her a pronounced look of I-told-you-so.
Well. No point in regretting her decision now. Time to find out what he knew and just be done with it. "Get up," she said, her voice soft, calm, and cold. "You're dirtying my clean floor."
The young man straightened with a flourish, not the least bit put off by his welcome. He beamed at her, grinning like the idiot he was. "But of course, your excellence! Your slightest request is my greatest pleasure to enact; Prince Orsino has no desire except to serve you."
"Is that why you were saucy at my gate, boy? I was told you insulted my guards very colorfully when they told you to leave."
Still he was not deterred by her frosty demeanor. "Oh please, fair Duchess; any rudeness I have expressed, I learned from your entertainment of my prince! And besides, such gatekeepers are merely meant to discourage the approach of the unworthy or underprepared who seek your attention without deserving it. My master is neither of these things." He waved a hand airly, with something that was probably supposed to look like worldly knowledge.
The Duchess uncrossed her legs and sat forward, eyes boring into the young messenger with such hard-edged focus that even he, dense as he was, finally seemed to notice. "You're not listening to me, little boy. You were saucy at my gate. My guardsmen are hand-picked from the best in the Tyrnese military, and you, in the height of ignorance, call them silly figureheads. I didn't bring you in here to listen to your pretty speeches; I brought you in here to wonder at you, wonder at the profound idiocy of a man who thinks that capricious name-calling is the way into a lady's house and into her favor, and to wonder what a prince who encourages such behavior in his underlings could possibly have to offer my court. Now, tell me what your master wants here and why he thinks that I should grant him the honor of serving me."
With considerable composure, the young messenger kept his wits about him, even as the color drained from his face. "Then... I suppose I'd better start over, shall I?" He straightened slightly, his coarsely-shod feet scraping loudly against the floor. "Prince Orsino sends you his greetings and requests that you once more consider his petition that his Bloodhound unit be employed in the security of your Dorian holdings. He hopes that their recent victories in the Ilqin Traverse serve as adequate demonstration of their abilities. And..." He coughed quietly; it echoed like a gunshot. "...he would like to know your thoughts on the matter as soon as is convenient to you."
"Better," she said nodding, "although not much." Ghent, what's he talking about with these recent victories? I haven't heard of any major civil conflicts in Sundar, recently.
The Ilqin Traverse seems to be some sort of... some sort of unruly alliance... in the b-black market, Ghent shot back, his gaze, slightly out of focus, directed at the young messenger's face, just above his eyes. It looks like they were threatening some sort of major offensive, and the Prince's men, um, uh, squelched it. V-very messily, it seems.
Alright. The silent exchange lasting less than a second, she continued aloud. "Your master's victories with the Ilqin sound very entertaining, but I don't need the service of a common butcher, nor a bully who goes out picking fights just to impress potential employers. My syndicate prides itself on subtlety, finess, not brute strength."
"But milady," the young man said with great confidence, "you are quite mistaken. Prince Orsino's Bloodhounds were introduced to the Ilqin Traverse undercover, penetrated their defenses with ease! There was nothing brute about it."
The Duchess pursed her lips. He's lying.
Oh yes, milady. Ghent shot her a detailed image of Orsino's men as they fought.
"You're a liar, boy, and I don't like liars that I haven't employed."
The young man coughed. "Milady..." he began, uncertainly.
She cut him off, drawing on the mental image again, her voice a bored drone. "Your master sustained some very substantial casualties in that fight. He planned it exceedingly poorly and only succeeded because he had surprise on his side. And with a half-crippled unit, he needs to ally himself with a stronger force so that he won't be slaughtered when the Ilqin Traverse has its revenge. Now, I ask you again, what can such a man possibly offer my cause?"
The pretty little man was shaking slightly, although it looked more from anger than nerves. Perhaps he had finally grown a backbone. "You are quite wrong, milady. Our numbers may have been reduced dramatically, but there are still enough of us left to seize hold of your secret stronghold in Alqualond. And we are very much prepared to do so, if you refuse our petition. Prince Orsino knows that this stronghold is not, perhaps, the most central to your operations, but he understands that he has some sentimental value to you." He gave her a pointed look.
Well. That was interesting. Ghent?
Bluffing, he replied, very decisive. He was told to threaten your holdings in Alqualond, if he thought it would help; the Prince's men are poised near Akrontion, but they really haven't a clue where to attack.
And Alqualond's "sentimental value"?
Bluffing as well, definitely. He doesn't know anything, milady.
Thank you ever so much, my dear. She smirked as her last comment prompted a definite mental blush from Ghent, who never knew how to deal with any sort of attention, and returned her attention to the messenger, suddenly tired of this game. He wasn't clever enough to mentally spar with her, and his employer wasn't interesting or powerful enough to toy with either. "What is your name, boy?"
"My...?" He blinked, as if unsure that she had heard his previous statement. "I'm called Cesario, milady."
"Very well, Cesario. Your master claims to respect my intelligence, yet he feeds me lies in order to gain my favor, and then he expects me not to be able to see through them. He offers me half a battle-weary regiment, claiming its dubious victories as speaking for its character, when my security in Doria is, as it is elsewhere, perfectly able without the assistance of your prince. As for you, I find you tiresome, and I find you insulting. You have a decently quick tongue and you can think on your feet, but like your master, you possess no useful talents that I couldn't buy elsewhere for much higher quality. That is my answer to the Prince Orsino. I am told he is virtuous, noble, even gracious, but he knows my mind on this matter, and it has not changed."
Young Cesario's face did not change, but the Duchess could feel fear and worry roiling right beneath the surface. "Milady," he said, voice taut, "do you mean to say that I will be sent back empty-handed—"
There was a dull, reverberating thud on the ceiling, followed by a dozen more in rapid succession, making the young man start in shock. "What the hell was..."
The sounds of impact were replaced with voices, thick, angry sounds of confusion, and a handful of abruptly curtailed screams, followed by another series of thuds. Then there were footsteps, and the sound of scraping that faded into silence. Loki was smiling thinly, and the Duchess didn't have to look back at Relnin to see that he was doing the same. Ghent seemed quietly unsettled.
"That, Cesario, was the slaughter of the warriors you sent to infiltrate my keep while we talked. We've been keeping an eye on them since you arrived." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she glanced at Loki. "And have no fears; I should not dream of sending you from this place empty-handed."
There was a blink of movement from Loki, and suddenly, a river of blood was spurting from Cesario's throat. Ghent let out a little gasp of shock, but aside from that and the sickening gurgle from the messenger as his life blood fled his body, the hall was silent. The twitching body sank to the floor, measuring out its ungainly length as deep red rushed out onto the clean white stone. The lithe little elf took out a square of cloth and absently wiped the spatter away from the keen blade in his hand. And that quickly, it was over.
The Duchess stood; she snapped her fingers once, and in a wispy wave of silver flowing from her hand, the bloody floor was once again spotless. "Leave the bodies where they'll be found."
"Yes, milady." Loki was withdrawing a large white sheet from a pile in the cabinet just outside of the room, stored there for such occasions, and he and Relnin went to wrap up Cesario's prone form. They could have asked their staff to take care of it, of course, but Loki liked the personal touch. There was something about death that demanded it. It was just no fun, otherwise.
Ghent was still looking faintly queasy about the whole affair, staring at Loki's turned back with a look of profound disgust, and the Duchess took him gently but firmly by the arm to lead him out. Loki had been right; it had been a stupid idea. But it was one more useless suitor she'd be rid of, and whether it had been the easiest way to handle things or not was pointless. She had plenty to do with the rest of her day.