~ Springing the Trap ~
Stefano rose the following evening and went out to feed. Like most kumpania, regions were known for having outlying mortal residents – many of which were a willing ghoul or subjugate for kindred just to experience the ecstasy of being fed upon. Feeling refreshed, he strolled up Focus Hill to the promenade at the top. He moved to the eastern end where stairs had been laid for speakers to be able to address large crowds. He sat on the top stair and waited for kindred to arrive.
One of the first to reach the summit was Chalance, looking ever the seductress. She sauntered across the grounds to greet Stefano.
“Well met, my Lord Prince. I trust you had a restful day?”
“Very restful, the first of such in a few days while trying to unravel this mystery.”
“Then word is true, you do know who the guilty one is.”
“I do. More than that will have to wait.”
Disappointment flashed across the woman’s face, but she recovered quickly. “Of course, Lord Prince. If you will excuse.” She gave him a slight bow then turned and walked toward the northern edge, every hip movement calculated and executed with great talent – all of which humored the Prince more than he’d ever tell.
Large groups of subjugates started arriving; the drone of quieted conversations filled the air. Stefano remained in thought, looking out over the crowd, until Trezt finally showed, followed by a dozen or so remaining stragglers. Stefano stood and a profound silence instantly rippled through the kindred. As he began to speak, the sound of distant thunder rumbled across the grounds. There were many gasps and a few kindred fell as the tsunami of power and authority struck them.
“My friends. My family of the night. Last time I was here I stood on these steps and let you meet your new prince. I was welcomed warmly and we had a pleasant time of relaxing celebration wherein I learned of the boundless kindness of the residents of Orswelt. It grieves me to not have that freedom this visit.” He waited for the expected murmurs to fade out before continuing.
“Five gentle kindred arrived at your gate over a wolfmoon ago and voiced their desire to join the region. I have learned two of them were traveling together when they came upon the other three; each one a lone traveler. They were not a band or camp in any manner other than wisely settling wagons together each day. As is always true in Orswelt, they were greeted with grand acceptance and waited for my visit to officially welcome them. Then the unspeakable. Two of the new arrivals were extinguished within the region limits. Strangely enough, it was the two who had always been traveling together.
“Unknown to most, the two were hunters-turned-kindred. Not unacceptable, just unusual. They carried insignia charms with them from their past. Thanks to friend Trezt, I have learned the crest shows they were part of the Dark Ridge clan. Indeed the same clan our brother was once part of in nights long past.
“The weapon of their demise was the bow, some would say fitting after their mortal lives. The bow has never been found, but we have the arrows.” He held up the two first arrows. “You all know by now of the expiration of Gyson; she, too, died of the bow; the instrument in the same demeanor as the first two.” He held up the third. “What I find most curious, as these are identical in style and construction as friend Chalance’s prize dart.”
“Not the same. Are you certain, Lord Prince?” Chalance’s eyes flared anger laced with ... fear?
“Come forward, lass, and bring your pride.” He held out his hand to take the arrow when Chalance reached the top of the stairs with him. He put the now four arrows in his hand and turned them. “Yes, the same.” He took an arrow and handed it to Chalance. “Thank you for letting me confirm it.”
“Yes, my Lord Prince.” Chalance took the arrow and rolled it lovingly in her fingers, watching the burs and nicks catch the firelight and dance. Reverently she placed it into her quiver and glanced nervously side to side.
Stefano nodded slightly before turning back to the many kindred standing around. “Gyson saw the killing, but with her gifting she was unable to tell what she saw, except in riddles. It took a while to puzzle through her words.”
Stefano turned slightly and held out an accusing left hand, leaving his side exposed. “Chalance, daughter of Pacca, I hold you accountable for the murder of Icon, Winst and our own Gyson.” He looked at some elders standing near her. “Hold her gentlemen. And thank you for being in place as I asked."
“It was not me. I was seen in the southern court, near the fire. I was enjoying the peace of the night, not out extinguishing some unknowns.”
“Hold your peace, kindred, unless you intend to speak truth.” Anger churned in his words.
“I do speak the truth! I was not there, I was at the southern fire!”
Stefano smirked. “Actually you do speak truth. Just truth bathed in deceit.” Stefano tilted his head at the slightly whispered ‘twang’ of a bow. He immediately stretched his left arm to meet the arrow aimed for his exposed side. The arrow pierced his palm and remained lodged there, not striking as aimed. Stefano looked across the gathering as three men stepped from the surrounding thicket, holding a struggling Trezt. “Bring him here.” Again the sound of thunder.
Stefano turned to his side and looked at the region’s healer. “Barcus, you have prepared as I asked?”
A heavy-set woman came forward, carrying bandages and ointment. “Yes, my Lord Prince. Shall I tend your wound now?”
Stefano nodded. When Barcus reached his side, the prince pulled the arrow the rest of the way through his palm then held his hand for Barcus to begin mending.
Rumblings of confused voices began to rise but again moved to silence as Stefano spoke. In his free hand he held the offending arrow, turning it slowly in his fingertips. “Interesting arrow. Completely smooth. Perfect carving. Excellent work, Trezt. For an ex-hunter.”
Trezt snarled in response. “It should have struck true. I was completely certain of the shot, much more than when I used those rough-hewn mistakes – those poor excuses for killing instruments. Yet they struck as intended. I should have known getting her help would bring disaster." He turned to Chalance. "I was wise when I left you for Yndra, but I was certainly the fool when I came back.”
Chalance’s dove into the fray. “My arrows are mistakes? You insisted to use my arrows to point suspicion at me while I ensured I had my alibi set. You could have just ignored those buffoons; they did not know you. You were so certain they were sent. Even to the point of stepping into the night, just to hunt you down. None of this would have happened if you weren’t a psychotic paranoid! You want a mistake? Loving you was the greatest mistake of my life.”
Stefano turned his attention to the bandaging of his already healing hand while chaos and commotion erupted through the kindred of Orswelt. When Barcus had finished he bent down and gently kissed her cheek. “Fates bless and hold you well, healer.”
She bowed demurely. “And you, my Lord Prince. I am glad it was only your hand and not worse as we had suspected the man would try. You took great risk, Lord Prince. I shall never fathom your wisdom.”
The prince held up his hand and waited for quiet. “So now we have full truth. Icon and Winst happened upon Orswelt in their search for a home. Instead they found one so afraid of his own shadow that he convinced a lover from his past to assist him in removing the threat that was not even present. Then Gyson’s life was taken because of that same fear.” He locked his eyes on Trezt. His voice dropped in volume but rose in intensity; none had trouble hearing or distinguishing his words. “Then the ultimate failure. You attacked your Prince.” He looked at the smooth arrow still in his good hand. “I believe this is yours.” With a flick of his wrist the sent the arrow true and swift – it pierced Trezt’s chest and split his heart, ending him immediately. Those holding him released their grip and stepped back as the extinguished kindred’s body turned grey and began to whither on the spot.
Stefano slowly turned to face Chalance. “Then we have you, would-be seductress o
f the night. Your own vanity had you convinced here was the greatest love of your life. Even after discarding you, he convinced you to assist in his insane scheme. I wonder at your purity of mind as well.” He turned to pick up one of the three earlier arrows. “You, so full of your pride and so sure of your own superiority. Yet you could not recognize when I gave you the wrong arrow as your pride piece.” He held the arrow out, showing it to her. “Here is the one with which you took champion over the region. But you could not distinguish it from the three used in killing. Proof of your involvement was then. As for this,” he twisted his hand, snapping the arrow in two. Chalance wilted before him as he tossed the pieces aside. “So ends your reign as champion bowsman. As you brought death to others, receive your payment.” He reached out his good hand to grasp her neck. She just started to resist when he snapped her neck. As she began to fall he reached over her and removed the arrow from her quiver. “And so justice is served.” He thrust the arrow through her chest, also splitting her heart. Like the one before her, her decay began that instant.
Stefano returned to the top stair and looked out over his gathered subjugates. “My friends, my family in the night, peace and honor have returned to your walls. Your gates again shall deter the false. May the Fates permit your gracious welcome of the stranger and outsider, making them part of your most blessed of regions. I bid you all farewell as I am leaving immediately for home. There are matters there that cannot be left unattended. But let it be known the remaining three visitors, Anston, Frebec, and Lonce are welcome to remain in Orswelt, should they so choose.”
A cheer rose in the crowd. They parted around him, giving him an open path to where Zarchos waited, prepared for travel. He raised his bandaged hand in friendship then turned and disappeared into the night.
-----
It was late, the sky growing more blue by the moment. The kindred of the Keep were headed up the stairs when a weary prince walked in the door. Gerik charged across the room, pulling his love into his arms.
“You look exhausted, Stefano. Can you walk the stairs or shall I carry you?”
Stefano laughed softly. “I believe I can make it. But yes, let’s go to our bed.” He looked at the stairs as they moved across the floor. “Sire, Odessa, we shall talk on the morrow. Fate’s blessing.”
“Fate’s blessing to you as well,” Vargon and his wife responded before climbing the remaining stairs to the second floor. Stefano turned to Gerik and kissed his cheek.
“I have great need of you. But it must wait; I am simply dead.”
Gerik giggled in response. "Stef, my love, there is nothing simple about you."