Chapter Twelve
Resignment
“THIS IS WHERE I was promoted,” Drewth said to himself barely above a grunt. He contemplated the rather plain, windowless, poorly lit conference room he sat alone in, which housed many an either informal or secretive gathering, with it’s the long square wooden table before him with it’s many equally square chairs tucked in desertedly along it’s broad ends.
In a surge of unsuppressed exasperation of his doubts he brought his gauntleted fist down strongly upon the table, which in such a silent room produced an almost deafening noise. Further he contemplated his black plated fist, glinting in the soft, almost dead light of the ancient enchanted fire sconces, which were posted upon the room’s walls. This armor he bore, a privilege of his rank, a metal magically tempered. The Dragon’s Fire enchanted sword hanging from his side, with it’s serpentine style hilt and an ominously glowing red jewel centered upon it, seeming to be an emblem of battle power, leading into it’s viscously serrated black blade, a blade encased in a black dragon skin scabbard. Also a privilege of rank.
But what privilege, with what loss? This is what he forced himself to contemplate. Arigwhen, his love, feared for him now. He remembered their last being together, his confiding with her of his and Syndirin’s plans, that yearning worry in her eyes, a worry for him, her, and their future. He promised her that he would resign from his duty, and not risk their lives on this career. But she was not with him now to, seemingly, sway his wishes and decisions – and how would he go about confronting Syndirin? Syndirin, who seemed so righteous in his conduct and dreams, dreams of uniting Gaedia and ruling it how it should be ruled.
Stirring him from his thoughts were quickly approaching footfalls of importantly echoing boots. The tall slender cloaked silhouette of Lord Syndirin entered the room.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” reproached Syndirin, peering at Drewth as he abruptly stood up from his seating.
Drewth hesitated any response. He never confronted or argued with Syndirin, his Lord - it was a conservatism inside himself he was now battling. “M’Lord,” he began, “I seek conference with you on the matter of my career.”
Syndirin frowned upon Drewth. “I see that you seek, seeing that I had to find you,” he said contemptuously. “And what of your career? You are my Second! Making requests for further promotions already? Not until you prove your worth to me.”
“I request to resign from my position, M’Lord.”
Syndirin’s composure was overcome with wordless aggravation, arrested in ponderous silence behind sealed thin lips and clenched jaw. He uttered nothing.
Drewth continued. “I do not see it a proper future for me, to forward your motives, M’Lord,” and upon the unchanging but foreboding expression on Syndirin’s face, he added justifiably, “I also seek the safety of my family, my wife, M’Lord.”
At the mention of ‘wife’, Syndirin’s still restrained mouth twitched. He was still glaring at Drewth, but with an ebbing temper. Thoughts were turning in his head; Drewth could see but not interpret.
Syndirin looked sternly and seriously at Drewth, nodding, his look still stern went from Drewth to the table, the chair, the wall, the faint torch, the floor, in contemplation, the only sound his boots upon the floor as he turned in place.
I do not grant this conference here and now, Drewth,” Syndirin answered. “Allow me three days to consider your request,” he said, examining the stones and rings upon his bony hand. Without waiting for acknowledgement from Drewth, Syndirin exited the room and disappeared down the exiting hallway, Drewth observing intently upon the retreating footfalls, the last flash of his cloak in the light of a dim torch, and then only seeing the hallway’s distant darkness.
Syndirin was fuming inside, despite the stony look he froze upon his thin face. Such was his aggravation that he unwittingly generated his Dark magic aura in his clenched fists, and with rage stabbing out of his control he howled and through the magic at a pillar, causing an explosion of black mist, half of the pillar crumbling into gray cursed dust as he heedlessly passed by.
“I had dreams that involved your aide, fool!” he spat at Drewth who was not present. “You were going to be powerful, I knew it…” Aggravation swallowed further words, an aggravation that boiled down to spiteful contempt as he proceeded down the hallway into the better lit – the non secretive – parts of the castle. Amongst a low ceiling hall of armor suits of defeated Kings he paused to eye the glinting blade of one of those King’s swords. The ancient weapon glinted viciously, and that contempt shifted into the treacherous victory of a plot. “Of course…” he hissed sinfully to himself.
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