Lyndon Thornshield

Perrelister Manor, the Noble Quarter, Jorden

THUD, THUD, THUD. Lyndon loudly rapped once more on the double doors that sealed Perrelister Manor from the rest of the world. The doors were freshly painted, a deep and subtle reddish brown color that almost resembled mahogany, a favorite for furniture and carpentry here in the noble quarter of Jorden. Not quite the real thing though, Canton. Not quite. Lyndon saw jagged outlines of wood shavings and chippings beneath the fresh coat of paint, and assumed Canton had his stewards paint the doors to mask the decrepitude of his estate. How low you have fallen, my old friend.

Lyndon knocked again, his patience wearing thin. He had been here for three minutes already, two minutes more than he had planned. "Open the damn doors, Canton!"

Sir Owyn Bellerdyn came close to his ear, his voice low and his tones hushed. "Should you be making so much noise, Lord Thornshield? It's very late, and there may be complaints from the nobles." He had been standing with the other four guardsmen that Lyndon brought with them in the courtyard. His request for this many guards to accompany him was most unusual, Sir Bellerdyn said, but then again, as Lyndon told him, this wasn't the usual social visit. The captain was antsy, Lyndon knew, but he would need a good swordsman tonight if things didn't go his way.

"I told you not to call me that here," Lyndon hissed. "And I wouldn't be making so much noise if he'd just open the damn doors!" Lyndon near shouted the last part, and once again banged on the doors to the manor with a flat palm.

Finally, a slot in the door slid open, and a pair of sunken wrinkly old eyes were staring at him. They were squinted up, sleepy, and plainly furious. "Do you have any idea the hour, young man? Lord Perrelister is asleep, and needs his rest! He has a busy day tomorrow, and it would be-"

Lyndon sneered. "The man hasn't been busy, I've had no work for him! Open the damn doors old man. The sooner you do, the sooner I can be on my way."

The old man's eyes pressed further into the slot, and Lyndon had to resist the urge of jamming his fingers in them. "I'll have no choice but to call for the guards if you don't-"

"Enough of this!" Lyndon snarled. "Do you know who I am? Do you have any clue? I'm Alister Boulson! That name ring any bells in your old skull?"

The old man's eyes widened, like an owl, and he started muttering to himself. "Lord Boulson, I, I had no idea. Forgive me, I'll wake the lord at once, we weren't expect-"

"No need, open the doors and I'll wake him myself."

Lyndon could see the old steward wasn't thrilled by that notion, but was past the point of arguing any further with "Alister Boulson".

As the old man was unlatching the doors, Owyn furrowed his brow, something bothering him. "Isn't Alister Boulson Commander Boulson's son? Isn't he...dead?"

Owyn was quiet enough when he asked, so Lyndon spared him another scolding. "Yes, he is both of those things, so I doubt he'd much mind if I used his name."

Owyn seemed troubled. "Lord Thor-" he paused. "Lord Boulson, I don't quite understand what we are doing here, at this manor, at this hour. It doesn't seem right, why is it that we're here?"

Lyndon had about had it with the questions. When he asked Owyn to assemble the men, he was asked why. When he was told to accompany him to Perrelister Manor, he was asked why, and now here he stands on their doorstep asking his questions. He hated the word why, with a passion most reserved for things like murder, or thievery. It grated at his ears every time it was said, and he'd near wince whenever he was asked why, as if the mere question was a physical attack on him. Lyndon's temples throbbed, and he felt a headache coming on. He gritted his teeth. "Dammit, Owyn! I don't care if it seems right, or left or up or down! You will stand here with your men, and you will look intimidating, do you understand? That is all I need from you, nothing more, nothing less."

The look Owyn gave him reminded Lyndon of a puppy, if it had just been kicked and spat on and left outside in the rain. The expression lingered for only a moment, and was soon replaced my Owyn's usual stoic and blank canvas of a face. "Of course, my Lord. Please forgive me."

Lyndon felt guilt nipping at him, as irritating and unwelcome as ever. It made his headache even worse, worse than the word why ever could. What was even worse was that he almost wanted to apologize to the poor wounded warrior. But why should I? I am his lord, and he my servant. Still...

Before Lyndon could usher out an apology, the doors finally swung open, and light poured out into the dark courtyard, spilt by the looming shadow of the old steward. He rested on his cane, slumped over, tired, and trembling as if he had just worked himself to the bone. "Please do come in, my Lord," the old man exhaled.

Lyndon looked back at the steward's shadow, cast out on the courtyard, tall, proud and stiff. He turned his gaze back to the small old man before him, huffing and wheezing and oh so decrepit. Nothing like your shadow now, are you, old man? How deceptive they can be...

"Thank you." Lyndon turned back to Owyn and his guardsmen. "Captain Bellerdyn, have one of your men stay here with the steward. The rest of you, come with me." He turned on his heel and started off for the bedroom. Time to wake up, Canton.

*****

Canton Perrelister was already awake when Lyndon entered his bedroom. Lyndon had expected him to be, who wouldn't have been with the racket they were making just outside his home? The fallen lord wore only a nightgown, and it was not by any means a flattering garment. You've gained some weight, Canton. Is that where what little money you have left goes? Straight to your belly? His beady black eyes had bags under them that seemed to be weeks old, purple and fleshy, and droopy like the rest of him.

"I'll ask one more time, Canton," said Lyndon as he traced the hilt of his dagger with his finger. He didn't mean to draw the small blade from his hip, but when it came to matters of intimidation, he found that theatricality went a long way. "Where is the rest of my money?"

Canton held his hands up disarmingly, as if that would have Lyndon forgive him. "Alister, I told you, I don't have it! They took it all! Every last coin, down to the coppers, the Royal Squadron took it all! I promise you, I swear to the Gods!"

"The Gods will do little for you here and now, Canton," Lyndon snarled. He took a step forward, and he went from tracing the hilt to gripping it. "I want what is mine!"

Canton retreated further into his bedroom as Lyndon came closer, his hands still up and his palms flattened. Lyndon's father had once told him that when a man shows another man his palms, he shows him that he is weak, cowardly, frightened. Of course, Lyndon already knew as much about Canton, but the affirmation couldn't hurt.

"Alister, Gods damn it, I told you, there's nothing left! The money is gone!"

Lyndon slowly stopped in his tracks, his scowl fading and his brow furrowing. "Gone? Gone where? Did it go on vacation?"

Canton's mouth twitched. "No, no, it's gone, it's simply-"

"Money doesn't just disappear, Canton!" Lyndon shouted. He growled, and his temples throbbed more and more with each passing second he dealt with this idiot. "What about the jade? Is there any left of it?"

Canton shook his head. "The jade went with the warehouses. Most of what was produced, the Royal Squadron seized as evidence. What's left is being peddled in the streets by common thugs and those vile urchins!" He said the last bit with disgust, as if the mere thought of them offended his being.

Yes, because you are so much better than them...

"So that's it then?" Lyndon asked. "All of the money, all of our hard work, mine, yours, Hardgroves, Brock, Doyle, all of it for nothing? Jade is loose in the street, our friends are chained up in the dungeons, and now you mean to tell me that all the money has simply vanished?"

"That's the truth of it, Alister! There's nothing more I can say."

Lyndon shook his head. "Bullshit. What are they paying you?"

Canton's face hardened at the notion. "They're not paying me anything! They left me only with the estate, everything else they took! Good Gods Alister, how many times must I tell you?"

Lyndon had enough. He had enough a while ago, but certainly now, he was done listening to Canton's drivel. "Alright Canton, I've had it with your lies. Do me a favor and keep quiet, would you?" Lyndon turned to the door closed behind him, the one Owyn and his men were just outside of. "Sir Bellerdyn!"

Canton's eyes widened. "What, what are you doing? Who are you calling?"

The door opened, and Owyn peeked his head through. "Yes, my lord?"

Lyndon returned his glare to Canton. "Come in here, and bring Sir Carter with you."

As the two men came into the room, Lyndon sauntered over to Canton, a cruel smile on his lips and his fingers curled around his belt. The disgraced lord shriveled as Lyndon came closer, his eyes darting about like a wild animal caught in a trap.

"Allow me to introduce to you Sir Carter," said Lyndon as gestured to the decrepit man behind him. He was hunched over a walking stick, his shoulders lopsided and uneven, and one of his legs twisted up in knots of pain. He leered a frightening smile at Canton, a smile with more gaps than teeth.

"Sir Carter," Lyndon resumed, "has quite the story. A knight of Arnland in his younger years, Sir Carter was as chivalrous as they came. Renowned and beloved, there wasn't a man in Arnland that didn't want to be him, and no maid that didn't want to be with him."

As Lyndon spoke, Sir Carter's hands went into a leather satchel slung over his shoulder, digging around for something, and the unmistakable screeching and scraping of steel accented the tension that filled the room.

"But war," said Lyndon with solemn tones, "war took that away from him." He looked menacingly into Canton's eyes. "Do you know what happens when the Valdorians capture you in battle, Canton?"

Canton swallowed deeply, his face scrunched up in a mess of fear. His eyes never left Sir Carters leather satchel, and his fingers trembled at his sides. "N-n-no, I don't," he stuttered out.

Lyndon turned to Sir Carter. "Care to enlighten our friend here?"

Sir Carter yanked a pair of sharpened shears from his satchel and took deep and heavy steps towards Canton, his twisted up leg trailing behind him.

"Wait!" Canton shouted as the crippled man came closer. "Wait! Alister please, please don't!"

Lyndon slowly shook his head and sighed. "I'm afraid we're well beyond the point of civilized discussion, Canton. We'll do things your way."

"Alister, I beg of you, plea-" Canton screamed as Sir Carter took the shears to his ears, and the gnawing of flesh and steel was drowned out only by Cantons howls and pleading to stop.

It was all Owyn could do to not look away.