After a half-day's riding, Malchus galloped through the gates of Capigan and dismounted without ceremony. When he had begun his campaign to find the merchant's daughter, he had considered his task simple and attainable. No one resisted Malchus Lorne for long, at least in his experience. His father’s single-minded avarice kept the man from heeding the actions of his son, and Malchus had never endured disappointment for long. If he could only find Aylee Hembry, he could offer whatever boon necessary to convinced those around her to give her up.

Before Everett Hembry had been condemned to wander the region for any hope of a living, Malchus might have found himself forced to accept a more frustrating outcome – perhaps resigned to brood over losing Aylee, and with no other opportunity to avenge himself. With the advent of the new portreeve and the new policies, however, Malchus had experienced a marked increase in the time and resources available to him. Not only would he find Aylee, he would have her.

Though the bruise on his cheek had faded, his mind had set the injury up as an icon to his pride, and hence he felt it there still, dark and ugly and a testimony against the woman who had dared raise a hand against him. Twice since that day, she had slipped through his fingers, and he had finally placed a face upon the unseen force which had wrenched her away from him. He had seen the face in Bennigton, even met its owner, both times while leaving the portreeve's office. He had thought the man a kindred spirit, had offered assistance. Then they had met a third time, as the stranger was in the very act of quite literally snatching Aylee out from under Malchus’s nose.

Malchus would have pursued the man directly, his new freedom allowing him to follow without consequence, but just as he had grown bored with battling men with pitchforks, he had returned to his camp to find an invitation. A very exciting invitation that seemed to offer the chance to marry his need for vengeance with his inherent ambition. Malchus smiled at the hand of fate which had used a coincidence of timing to bring him to the attention of such an important person.

For the most part, Malchus had engaged in base revelry since he had left his hometown, more an exercise in adolescent profligacy than a serious campaign. Apparently, though, Malchus shared an enemy - Aylee’s rescuer - with a very powerful man. The rescuer seemed to face larger obstacles than just Malchus’s personal vendetta. From what Malchus understood, the eminent Paulus Maximus, supreme counselor to Duke Wilmington, did not care for the mysterious stranger either. And somehow the news had reached Paulus Maximus that he had a competent ally in Malchus Lorne.

Convenient for Malchus, but he had to wonder exactly why Maximus had targeted the young man. Perhaps the high counselor had his own great ambitions. Malchus had heard the rumors. Rumors that for the past several weeks, troops had ridden out in the Duke’s name to burn and pillage many of the border towns. Ostensibly, the troops had deployed to set down violent uprisings within some of the outlying hamlets of the duchy, but the stories that filtered into the interior of the region did not seem to match the stated narrative. The stories told of burned villages and ravaged women, much more intense than anything Malchus had done in the towns surrounding Bennigton. Had the supposed uprisings gotten out of hand? Or had the Duke, as the whispers implied, grown power-hungry and mad? Certainly, the political management in the interior spoke of a power grab by someone – the people had assumed by the Duke.

As he approached the expansive great hall, Malchus found that he did not really care the reason. He only concerned himself that new resources from Paulus Maximus would give Malchus vast reservoirs of money and power with which to play. To top off the boon of his new resources, Malchus thrilled at the idea of the prestige he might win. Prestige that, once he had subdued Aylee Hembry, he would use to establish himself in the position for which he had been born. For which he, of all his acquaintance, was uniquely suited – the position of power. As Malchus mounted the steps and followed behind the steward, his heart swelled with anticipation, and a grin froze itself onto his features.

For Paulus, the meeting with the arrogant tradesman from an insignificant town came as an attempt at damage control. Since the Duke had fallen ill, Paulus had found himself needing to juggle several versions of rumors, all of which he had managed with little difficulty.

The first rumor asserted that Duke Wilmington had set himself against a bastard child, the claimant son, Lord Capigan. Lord Capigan’s mother, the story purported, had engaged in a torrid love affair with the viscount of a neighboring region, and Lord Capigan had resulted from their indiscretion. With the duchess dead nigh ten years, the son newly deceased, and the duke incapacitated, there was no one to contradict the rumors. The bastard son, the rumor continued, had rebelled against his erstwhile father and begun to wreak havoc on the father’s territory, and the duke had clamped down on freedoms as a response.

The second rumor said that the duke had died and that his heir, the said Lord Capigan, had begun sweeping policies of reform. Certainly a more believable theory, and one that fit nicely with Paulus's own schemes. Though few would believe ill of the Duke, very few knew his son and would therefore believe whatever rumor provided to their minds. Based on this rumor, Maximus had begun to send out secret emissaries to recruit support from the local barons, with varying levels of success. The soldiers he had sent to the border towns had performed their office capably, and the officials in the interior towns had created significant distress by their authoritarian reforms.

A third rumor circulated, though, and one not of Paulus’s inception. Apparently, some errant noble, concerned about the upheaval in his community, had begun a campaign to repair the damage the High Counselor had unleashed. Even worse, the nuisance noble had undertaken these operations in the Duke's name, repairing buildings and doling out generosity to the town leaders if they used the funds to benefit the workers in the town. Did such a noble exist? Paulus did not know, but he needed to undermine the rumor immediately, whether by providing contradictory evidence or by eradicating the offending character.

Fortunately, the young man now entering the room offered an opportunity both to buttress Paulus’s own cause and to disrupt the transactions of the inconvenient nobleman. This Malchus Lorne had managed to raise a small contingent of followers for some unknown purpose, and they had blown through several towns leaving a path of destruction like a windstorm. If a man could manage such a feat with a few miscreants, what could he manage in command of the duke’s soldiers? Without the son to withhold the soldiers, Paulus could probably accomplish a lot through the ambitious young man.

Paulus could still see the rigid, pale corpse as the servants had born the lord's youthful body beyond the wood to the private graveyard on the other side. Inside his mind, Paulus had torn through ideas of how to manage the narrative to maximum effect. He immediately instigated the rumors of government instability, but he had felt no confidence in their success.

After a week of mental torment, Paulus had received a measure of relief from the new rumors that had begun to circulate through the region. The young “nobleman” matched quite well the description of Lord Capigan – tall, fair skin, dark hair, eyes of green. Whoever this marauder proved to be, he had stumbled quite nicely into Maximus’s schemes.

"Malchus Lorne, your excellency," the steward announce as he led Malchus into the chamber. Peering around him, Malchus spied a sparse marble room adorned only by the azure rug he had just traversed. At the end of the rug sat a large, comfortable seat upholstered with an identical color to the rug and adorned with elaborate wood carvings. A corridor of pillars stood forlornly along the sides; Atlases left bereft by the lonely job of holding up the high stone ceiling. With a wave of his hand, Paulus Maximus dismissed every person from the immense room and left Malchus standing alone staring up into the wizened face of his host.

"I had expected, young man, to find a tad more anxiety on your countenance considering the acts that have preceded you here." No, the young man did not especially favor Lord Capigan, but the generic description fit. The eyes were significantly brighter green, though, like those of the marshers on the southern border of Banda, and his hair missed the ruddy undertone that ran through the Wilmington family. The height was of a piece, and the man in front of him actually wore a more accurate mien for the noble class – arrogant and annoyed. The late earl had carried himself with entirely too much humility, though admittedly with every noble manner outside of confidence. If the man who now stood before Maximus had stood to inherit rule, Maximus may have rested content to stay High Counselor. An ambitious mind behind a pretty face offered much greater opportunity than a gaunt elder with a shrewd countenance.

"Word has preceded to me as well, your excellency. If I understand correctly, I have every reason to expect a mutually beneficial meeting here today."

Paulus paused, displeased that word had leaked from his private chamber. He would need to vet his servants better before embarking on further schemes. "Still, I don't know whether to punish you for your presumption or find promise in your confidence. If you can accomplish half of what your bearing holds, I expect quite a high remuneration from having you on my team."

"Whatever you wish of me, you may have it," Malchus bowed, "at a minimal cost."

Paulus smirked at the reference to money - quite bold for the young man on a first meeting.

"I ask only,” the newcomer continued, “that you give me the girl who has inspired me on this series of excursions, plus whatever pay and elevation you deem proper."

"The girl?"

"A merchant's daughter. She will mean nothing to you, but she has insulted me. I desire only vengeance, then I will have no further distraction from any of your needs."

"I cannot afford for my greatest asset to suffer distraction,” Paulus corrected.

“It's a non-issue,” Malchus insisted quickly, causing Paulus's eyebrows to rise. “I believe she is in the company of a man who has been acting counter to your interests.”

Paulus peered at the young man with new interest, considering how the news might benefit him. If it were true, it would prove incredibly convenient. “Another one? Why do you believe this?”

“When I encountered a young man in my hometown, he fed me a story. I have watched for evidence of its truth these several weeks, but I have seen none. In fact, I adopted some of his identity when I began my excursion, and the rumors have grasped at them as well. You have heard of a noble who fell out with his father?”

“I have.”

“I believe this is the man. He claimed that he was a tradesman’s son, and that his father’s ambitions to nobility had interfered with the young man’s intended romance. When the son complained to his father, his father cast him out as punishment. Where I would have engaged in open rebellion, this young man intended to earn his way back into his father’s good graces by engaging in profitable enterprise.”

“How does that affect me?”

Malchus shrugged. “You have heard the rumors of someone undermining your new policies? Meeting with town leaders and setting up alternate systems? Even helping the merchants conduct business around the portreeves you have set in place?”

“Of course I have,” Paulus pursed his lips in irritation at the thought.

“There just seems too much coincidence in the story this man tells and the tale of the interfering nobles.”

“So, what about the rumors of the errant noble who is pillaging some of the villages? I had sent out my soldiers to effect much the same, but the destruction wrought by this unknown character have helped my cause.”

With a sly smile, Malchus offered a shallow bow. “I am responsible for that version of events. It happened inadvertently as I search for the young lady. Of course, in the towns near my own, I did not wish my name associated with the destruction, beyond an occasional fire or a brawl when the townsfolk proved unreasonably uncooperative in my search. I therefore adopted the story that I had heard from the unknown noble. It kept my identity hidden.”

“Clever. I can think of several ways to adapt your practices and meld them with my own. But, how does the presence of the young lady help me?”

“Only,” Malchus offered carefully, “that in pursuing my own interest, I will also be pursuing yours. What better guarantee could you have that I will execute your missive?”

Nodding, Maximus brought his hand to his chin. “You make a persuasive argument.”

For several seconds, Maximus peered down at the young man, considering how best to use this new information and how much he should reveal. Finally, he nodded at his guest.

“You have managed a convenient legend for me, I think. One that we can leave to simmer, but I need you to consider adding a few others to stir the pot.”

Malchus preened at the words, aware that they implied his closer service with the High Counselor.

“Let us keep the story of the young man who fell out with his father, but let us adapt it.”

“Adapt it?”

“Yes, since young Capigan died, I have tried to discern how to take advantage of his absence, and I think you have stumbled upon a way,” Paulus drawled, staring at Lorne as he let the words sink in.

Dumbstruck, Malchus stared at his host without a word.

“I hoped to shock you, because it means that the truth has not escaped.” Maximus purred with lips that bowed upward with a complacent smirk. “It is true, young man. The heir has died, and by my hand, if I understand correctly.” Now his mouth parted into a full-on arrogant grimace. “You might wonder at such an event, since the earl was young and healthy. Well, you see, Lord Capigan was not the only member of his family who fell ill. In fact, the dear duke has lately fallen ill as well, incapacitated from his duties. This illness, though, does not stem from a natural cause...”

“The duke is ill, then,” Malchus prodded. “I wondered why he had not interfered with all the current chaos. A poison?”

“Very astute,” Maximus nodded. “Yes, a poison mild but potent. It ensures that the Duke will remain incapacitated but will not die.”

“You do not want him dead?” Malchus could not understand a hand that delayed seizing the power within its grasp.

“If I take what I can acquire right now, it will prove insufficient to grip the power I desire. With my small influence will come contests and disagreements, arguments about succession. If I can keep the duke alive long enough to establish myself a full-on ruler, then my transition will prove simple and without dispute.”

Malchus smiled, pleased at the cruelty of the plan, “So you killed the heir to prevent his challenging your position?”

“Huh,” Maximus huffed an uncharacteristic huff. “In truth, my friend, I had not intended to kill young Capigan, at least not for a while. I intended to slowly suck his power away from him before his twenty-fifth birthday, the day he would become the heir-in-fact. Only when I felt secure in my control would I fabricate an excuse to kill the young man. No, Lord Capigan inadvertently killed himself, to be honest. By eating his father’s food. I had noticed for some time that the duke had not eaten particularly well as of late, so I had increased the dosage of poison in his meals so that he would receive enough to perpetuate his illness. A small amount would simulate infirmity. An entire meal? The amount in an entire meal would have killed a very strong man. As it did.” Again, Maximus bared his grimace of a smile from his skeletal bag of skin.

“Datura…”

“Excuse me?” Paulus demanded.

“I noticed the seal – the variation on the duke’s own. His the jonquil, yours the moonflower.”

Narrowing his eyes, Maximus assessed his recruit anew. “Very astute,” he sneered. “And yes. That is exactly what I used. Created quite a stir at first due to the visions and insanity, but he settled nicely into a stupor in the end. And there he lies.”

Though Malchus would not have resorted to such subtle trickery against his own enemies, he had to respect the older man's cunning. He wished, in a way, that he could manage that kind of insight, but he knew that even under the wisest of tutors, he would never find such an ability for manipulation. Brute force would have to suffice for Malchus.

“What, exactly, is it that you want from me?” Malchus probed.

“This noble who has fallen out with his father? Instead of this unknown noble from an unknown city, it is actually Lord Capigan who has fallen out with his father.”

Malchus felt his brow raise in perplexity.

“I have notice since your arrival that you favor Lord Capigan.”

“From what I have heard, we are of similar size and build, though that is where the similarity ends.”

“Well, very few people outside of Capigan have extensive knowledge of the earl. Many have passed through the city on one occasion or another, have seen him from afar. Only those merchants and nobles who have attended court on a regular basis would recognize him in any great detail.”

“So, I am to be Lord Capigan?” The idea brought an eager smile to Malchus’s face.

“And when you fell out with your father, you undertook to destroy his domain by undermining his legitimacy.”

“Actually, that is an excellent idea,” Malchus agreed, the counselor’s ultimate word stirring a plan. “We can combine the rumors to further your claim to the throne regardless of people’s opinion of the earl. Legitimacy.”

“Explain.”

“The falling out – the reason the duke ejected Lord Capigan – is because he found out that the earl is illegitimate.” Malchus knew from personal experience that rumors of illegitimacy drove a wedge between a father and son – certainly it was a believable tale.

“Clever. And so there will be little to alter in your current activities – you have already found a following who will engage in the unsavory acts necessary for this fabrication, though I will add to your numbers from the troops who have already aided me.

“The marsh?”

“The marsh. You will become Lord Capigan, the exile, and will unleash havoc in your erstwhile father’s territory. I – acting in the duke’s name - will respond by enacting even further autocratic policies.”

“And for my role in this scheme?” Malchus wondered. The idea of the freedom and power involved with commanding the force appealed to Malchus, but the thrill would settle rapidly, and Malchus could not live on thrill. Certainly, he had no desire to return to his father any sooner than he would have to, if at all.”

Maximus nodded. “A title – a baronetcy with its land and privileges – and your young merchant’s daughter to do with as you please.”

Triumph bloomed euphoric in Malchus’s chest. Certainly, he coveted the financial remuneration, and the fact that he had leave and resources to pursue Aylee Hembry was the master stroke.

“You must understand,” the old man interrupted his young guest’s thoughts, “that, due to the intimate nature of this disclosure, your life is now forfeit if our conversation here leaves this room.”

Malchus had not considered the insecurity inherent in his position, but he could not particularly care with his prize dangling before his eyes. “You may count on my complete discretion,” the younger man assured his host.

“If I did not think I could, you would already be dead. Loose lips and arrogance are a deadly combination for their owner. I will allow you only one of the two.”

Rather than answer, Malchus bowed a small, subservient bow, and for the first time, his smile evaporated along with his sense of elation. Not that he would withdraw his offer of support, but he would now make sure to use an abundance of vigilance in all of his dealings. Such a schemer as Maximus would hold no qualms about stabbing an unnecessary minion in the back. Still, to Malchus, the rings on his fingers and jewels in his pouch ensured his continued cooperation.

“When you walk out this door,” the Counselor called after him, “you become Lord Jameson Wilmington.”

With a nod, Malchus turned and headed into the night.