Deviant Mage Pt. 04 - Diueshet Mines

She emerged from the keep's man door to the dawnward wall, and from up on the wall, she saw plain as day that the heirloom blade of the Lanovins was intact once more. And was still being wielded by the clumsy hands of her third-born child, as he went through a basic drill stiffly and awkwardly, so afraid of doing the exercise improperly that he was doing it improperly, unable to grasp the basic purpose of the movements he so gracelessly imitated.

He finished butchering his latest vain yet determined attempt at learning swordplay. He saw Dovian watching him from up on the wall.

He smiled, his mouth slightly obscured by the bandages still covering the wound his sister had given him. It was the smile of a little boy eager to show something to his mother. On a grown man, the expression just came off as pathetic. As Dovian descended the wooden stairs, Umtieone approached her with the blade held with almost worshipful reverence, presenting it to her like he expected her to be proud of him.

"Mother dearest. You grace me with your presence."

"Son. I see that the Butcher's Blade has been repaired." There were hammer marks around the middle of the blade, and a slight blended depression in the bevel on either side. There was additionally an odd discolouration to the previously silver steel, starting purple and ending yellowish, that spread out from the mend. "How?"

"The Master Smith of Lanovale had the means to repair our holy sword, Mother. I saw to it that it was done."

"I see. And how much did this repair cost?"

"Nothing but the price of reminding a man of his duty to the family, Mother."

Dovian processed that. "Do go on, son."

That was all the prompting it took for Umtieone to tell her the whole tale. Because he was proud of what he had just done, and expected her to be pleased with him. The Master Smith of Lanovale had smuggled an illegal, unholy device into Lanovale at great expense, and Umtieone had strong-armed the smith into using that device to repair the Butcher's Blade.

For some reason, Umtieone considered the Butcher's Blade to be a holy relic, and he had 'proved' that the smith's hellfire-spitting device wasn't unholy in the process of repairing it. And, upon receiving the repaired sword, he had declared the Master Smith forgiven of his crimes, and legitimately believed that settled the matter. He'd made his best (improvised) effort at a formal declaration, before witnesses, to that effect.

Dovian's eyelid twitched.

"You did not think to consult me on this?" she asked in a cold, forcibly mild voice. Many people were familiar with that tone, and terrified of it.

"You were occupied, Mother, and your time is far too valuable for me to intrude upon it with my dull affairs."

"You declared this man's unholy 'science' as being holy. All because he used this device to repair that worthless old sword?" Dovian asked, ignoring how her son attempted to flatter her as he made yet another excuse.

Umtieone frowned. "Mother, it is a holy relic. You must see-"

"Do not argue with me!" Dovian suddenly shouted in Umtieone's face. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"Please, Mother. Let me explain! The sword-"

"Is useless in your hands, and you know it! You utter, moronic fool! You might have just turned the Guild of Craftsmen on House Lanovin!"

Umtieone blanched, but held his ground. "Are they not our subjects, Mother? They need a firm hand to be reminded of House Lanovin's authority! And please, let me show you-"

The fool boy dared argue with her. Dared defy her!

Dovian shoved aside her rage, and embraced the void.

Destroy.

Umtieone wasn't holding the blade like he meant to swing it. A proper disarming maneuver wasn't necessary, but she did one anyway, stepping just behind him and ripping the sword out of his grasp with a maneuver that could have broken his fingers like twigs, but she restrained herself. Her form was practically a blur as she did this. Umtieone howled. Dovian tossed the worthless and yet now extremely expensive blade aside. Holding his wrist and jamming on his elbow, with her body positioned just-so, she slammed him down face-first into the ground, driving his nose into the courtyard's dirt. She grabbed his other arm, straining it in its socket. Umtieone howled pathetically. There were words in his howling, and they registered as cries for mercy. How absurd. She was showing him more mercy than he deserved already.

"Manacles. Now" she said, voice drained of all emotion, to the nearest guardsman, dark-skinned Cobier, who had watched this happen with a total lack of expression. He nodded once, and went off to grab a pair.

"How much money do you owe the master smith for his service? Do you even know?" she asked in a quiet monotone.

"I owe nothing!"

Dovian twisted his arm just a little bit harder, and felt a 'pop' in Umtieone's shoulder. He howled with pain again, then began to hyperventilate.

"Twenty-seven full! But Mother-"

Dovian noted that number with icy tranquility as the oaf continued to babble.

"A ruinous sum."

"Indeed! They were criminals to ask it of their lords!"

"Criminals you actually believed you had the authority to pardon."

"I am Lord Protector of Lanovale! I have that right!" he shouted at Dovian, finally allowing his anger to show.

How interesting. He actually believed that, didn't he? She'd have to put that notion out of his mind for good.

Still wrapped in the void, she smiled warmly upon her son as he glared up at her. She released his arms. His confusion was clear, but he relaxed slightly. Just before she kicked him in the face, hard enough to send him sprawling. One of his teeth went flying from his mouth. She could have struck him so hard as to kill, but that would have been wasteful. As it was, he was still conscious, but stunned. In pain. She wanted him in so much more, but that would come soon enough.

Cobier returned with the manacles. She shackled Umtieone. She ordered her horse to be saddled, though she had to release her hold of the void as the beast approached. Despite considerable training, the cowardly animal still grew nervous when Dovian was in this state.

Umtieone, at spear-point, was marched down from Hethaltie's Plateau to Upper Lanovul. He looked completely beaten. The fight was gone from him, and it had hardly taken anything. Weakling.

The procession, with Dovian leading it and Umtieone in the middle of it, attracted a great deal of attention, as they made their way to the gates of Lanovul's smithy, where the smith had an infernal hellfire-spitting device within. She should have had the place razed to the ground for this heresy. But the Lanovins simply didn't have the means to do that anymore. The Guild of Craftsmen was not a major power in Lanovale, but the other guilds were their allies, and collectively they were a power at least equal to their lords, given the current state of the family. If she didn't appease them, then it would mean more enemies at the foot of Castle Lan, when House Lanovin was barely managing to stay afloat under its current deluge of problems.

"Remove his tunic" she said coldly to her guards. And they did. Umtieone didn't resist.

The ironworks' employees noticed Dovian, Umtieone and their guardsmen outside their gates. The Master Smith was quickly summoned. He had several of his own guards accompanying him, who wore long leather coats that undoubtedly had weapons hidden in them. He approached the Lanovins. He was still wearing work clothes.

"My lady. What brings you here?" the Master Smith asked knowingly.

"You know what brings me here, heretic" Dovian grated. "My son comes to make amends for his... mistake."

Umtieone literally growled like an animal at hearing that, and one of the guardsmen firmly prodded him in the back of the head with his spear-butt. At which he yelped like a kicked dog.

"Ah, that. Well, see, if you'd asked me that a few days back, I'd say seein' that arrogant wankstain bleed would be worth a little off the debt you owe. But now? Consider it paid." He smiled mockingly at Dovian.

Drat.

"See, the guilds all assured me, Umptions here has given me something way more valuable than the twenty-seven full-gold that he should'a paid for me fixin' his old pig-sticker. Got the word of the Lord Protector of Lanovale himself declaring the sanctity of certain, ah... special materials and tools. Declared officially before proper witnesses. Great little speech your son gave me. Had a couple apprentices write it all down." He glanced at Umtieone, who stood in the street, bruised and bloody, shirtless, shivering. He gave a smirk. Umtieone glowered back with impotent rage.

"The fool was acting outside his authority, and did not know what he claimed."

"We can debate that in the courts, if you want."

Dovian's eyelid started to twitch again. The courts were run by representatives of the King of Thare, and the King only wished the Lanovins would go ahead and die out already.

And yet, if she did nothing, then another blow had just been struck against their God, and His decree that Lanovale stay free of the unholy taint the rest of the world called progress.

"No. I don't think I shall involve the King in this... local matter" she said coldly, staring the man in the eyes.

"If that was meant to be a threat, then it was an empty one. Try anything, and by this time next year, a different flag'll be flying from your castle. You know that even better than I do, Deacountess. You should just let this one go." He turned his back on her. Dovian spent a moment seriously considering what would happen if she killed him here and now. She could probably do it. Those guards were an unknown quantity, though. If the Master Smith of Lanovale was willing to smuggle in unholy goods, then there was no telling what manner of weapons those men had hidden. And the last time Dovian had dealt with guns, it had been when she'd been almost a decade younger. Even if she succeeded, then she'd ignite a war against the guilds that the Lanovins, with fewer than twenty soldiers in their employ, did not have the power to win. At least, not currently.

So she did nothing. If she wanted to repair this, she had to be clever about it. She needed to give the heretic the impression she was beaten. Still, she hated putting on the act. Hated knowing that Hethaltie's eyes were on her, and her God had was witness to her failure to protect His domain against something so small as the ambitions of a greedy man. A little sliver of herself could not help but resent that her God had allowed this to happen at all. But that was irrational of her. She was Hethaltie's agent in this world, to carry out His will among mortals. She had to do her holy duty! She could fix this!

To her wretched oaf of a son, whose delusions of grandeur had caused yet another problem Dovian didn't need, she delivered sixteen lashes to, right outside the ironworks' gates, surrounded by a gawking, jeering crowd of commoners. As Umtieone howled, and as a clumpy spray of blood, shredded skin and fat was sent flying into the air, she opened herself up to the divine joy of inflicting suffering upon one who richly deserved it.

To feel such ecstasy at punishing the wicked was the first gift her God Himself had given Dovian, and so it was the gift she cherished the most.