Twists and Turns
By: Jonathan Lavallee

    Seasons affect us all, from the smallest ant to the most powerful ruler. Nature cares not what you are or whom you think you should be, but merrily goes on its way regardless. When she's happy, Nature can be filled with such light and warmth to rival any mother's care. When she's unhappy, Nature is cold, unforgiving and unyielding; not something to be trifled with, and this early spring morning was filled with the promise of summer warmth, and a slight chilling winter wind. It cannot help but be a combination of the two since spring is the death throes of winter and the rebirth of summer. It is a season of growth and exuberantly youthful potential.

    Feronant Domar, one of those able souls who can be jolly despite the season, sat on a bench in an outdoor eatery enjoying the weather. His wide grin was firmly in place while his brown overcoat protected him from any remaining wintry blasts. His purple tartan was draped almost carelessly over his shoulder, held in place by a gold clasp in the most haphazard of ways. Feronant was always like that, a bit of laughter mixed in with a bit of chaos wrapped up in the purple and gold of House Mosfin, a coat he would not exchange for any other. This morning he was waiting for two of his friends to arrive, and in so doing was enjoying a very fine vintage.

    He was just taking a sip from his glass when one of the two people he was waiting for arrived in the open-air bench at the eatery; Lerimar Rickson, a young Mosfinite who had recently taken control of his family estates back from those who had silently usurped it while he was still struggling with the destitution that had been left him after his father's death. He kept some of the old habits from that time; using his long hair to partially hide his gaunt, unshaven face so that no one could easily identify who was behind the follicle curtain was one of those habits. Walking up to Feronant, Lerimar asked, “A bit early in the morning to begin drinking, isn't it Feronant?”

    Feronant laughed, “Hardly my boy. It's always the perfect time for wine. You just vary the amount of water depending on the day.”

    Lerimar frowned slightly at the mention of the word ‘boy.’ “You aren't that much older then I am Feronant. I wish you'd stop calling me that.”

    “Bah. I'm still a good eight months older than you. When you get to be as old as I am then I'll stop calling you boy.”

    “So in eight months you'll stop doing it?”

    “No, because I'll still be eight months older than you.”

    Lerimar shook his head and waved a silent serving man over to the table. He ordered an alcoholic mix as he sat down on the bench next to his friend. Feronant had always liked Lerimar and was glad to see that he was finally growing into his mantel of authority. The years when he was floundering had been painful to watch, and Feronant hadn't been close enough to offer any support to the new Lordling, but now that Lerimar's brother, the large, powerful and burly Domian, had returned he had some muscle to back up the keen mind he had hidden under all that uncertainty. Now all he needed was a bit of fashion sense and a greater understanding of sarcasm.

    A barb sprang to Feronant's mind when he thought of fashion, and being the delightfully unabashed man that he was he felt the need to air it. “Lerimar,” Feronant began, “I've been meaning to ask you: since the white you wear only happens to highlight the paleness of your face, do you wear it because you want to make your enemies assume that you're already dead or do you keep yourself in this wonderful state of unhealth to scare away those of the fairer sex because they believe you to be one among many undead minions? After all, we all know what they would be doing to you if you had any bit of health and sense of style. Couldn't keep them away from you even if your lug of a brother beat them off with a stick. Not that I would suggest that he do such a thing, we'd have a sea of corpses to go through before he was finished.” A smirk broke out on his face as he finished his last line. He enjoyed teasing the younger Rickson lad; at least he had a sense of humor despite his lack of sarcasm. Domian had none, and his zealous protection of his younger brother had made even Feronant walk carefully around Lerimar, particularly when Domian was within rumor shot. A good joke was a good joke, but it was never worth having your head caved in by a large man with an even bigger weapon.

    Lerimar rolled his eyes, “On that again are you? Did you bring me here just to give me fashion tips or are we actually going to talk about something useful … like that ugly hat of yours.”

    Feronant laughed out loud, pleased at the joke, as the serving man brought Lerimar's drink to the bench. “That's my boy; you're getting the hang of it. And what's wrong with my hat? It keeps my hair out of my eyes. Maybe you could use one?”

    Lerimar took the wined water and gave a dismissive nod to the server, “And … I don't have anything else.” He looked on, slightly embarrassed.

    “Don't worry, you'll get better with practice, and there are quite a few people you can practice it on. If I remember correctly, most of the Veteran's Guild tends only to know how to reply with swords, and duels, and all that wonderful stuff. Since quite a few of them are really afraid of your brother, you can sharpen your skills on them whenever you wish.”

    Lerimar's eyebrows lowered in thought, “I thought you said you respected the Veteran's Guild.”

    Feronant's smirk returned, “Oh! For protecting the city from the ravages of beast, war, and fire there's no better, but it's hard to talk to someone when all they can do is grunt at you my boy.”

    “I told you to stop calling me that.”

    “I only call you that because I like you, if I stopped teasing you then you'd know something was wrong.”

    Lerimar sat back and took another draught from his cup. “Feronant, they day you don't make a joke I'll run straight to the nearest Temple of Kalim, because the sky will be falling and the world surely coming to an end.”

    “That it might my boy; that it might.”

    The seated pair, enjoying each other's company, watched the many people of the town walk by. One advantage to this eatery was that it was close to the market, and it was one of the few places where you could see the common folk mingling, at guard's length, with the nobles of the city. It was the perfect vantage point for watching people, doubly so because those who walked closest to the court could easily be reached for comment. It was Feronant's favorite poaching ground, and quite a few of the aristocracy had felt the sting of his jokes and laughter as they've walked by, usually to the amusement of the common folk in the market.

    Today was perfect as well, not a cloud in the sky and Orea Falant walking through the market looking to buy some sort of finery that would allow her to get closer to those in the Senate, not that she needed any help. And though she was just walking around town, Orea was beautifully draped, her hair perfectly placed just so to give her that slightly mussed luxurious look. Her lips were painted with the dark purple she ostensibly claimed was her tribute to House Mosfin, but highlighted the translucent nature of her skin, and a dress cut to impress a eunuch in mid-winter. She was also one of Feronant's favorite targets.

    “Orea, my love. How are you this fine morning?” He shouted out towards the noble woman surrounded by a cadre of guards. She glanced over at who had bellowed the greeting so ungraciously, and when she saw whom it was her eyes narrowed dangerously as her back stiffened up in displeasure. She tried to get away as fast as she could, but the press of people in the market made fast movement difficult, and the city frowned upon using weaponry to displace the common folk.

    Lerimar looked at him and whispered, “What are you doing?”

    Feronant gave his compatriot a quick, subtle, dismissive wave, “I see you're enjoying this fine spring day. Now, I don't want to be the one to bring it up, or sound like I'm complaining, but if your décolletage was any lower love, we'd have to pick it up off the ground to keep it out of the horse dung. Not that you wouldn't have a wide arrangement of suitors who wouldn't love to do it for you, but I just thought you'd like to know. Again, not that I'm complaining or anything, you're breasts are some of the wonders of the world.” His last quip was louder than the rest since she had finally fled earshot, but not without noting that most of the common folk were no longer hiding their smiles or their laughter.

    Lerimar moved closer and asked, almost urgently, “Why did you do that? Doesn't that demean House Mosfin in the eyes of the public?”

    Feronant smiled, “Of course not my boy. If I were of the Veteran's Guild or one of the other houses then it might. What the common people see is a noble house with a sense of humor that can take a few verbal blows, and you can't find a common man or woman who doesn't like some of our more stuffier nobles better with the wind knocked out of them from time to time. Besides, it's far better if I say it first, so if someone else says the same thing later on it will have less of an effect.”

    Lerimar thought about it for a second before replying with a, “Oh … I understand,” followed by another lengthy pause, “I think?”

    Feronant smiled again, “Well, think of it this way. I think she's deeply enamored with me and since I like to keep my political insides inside me, I try to play hard to get.”

    A quiet laugh broke out from the bench immediately behind the two friends, they both turned at the sound of someone declaring that they've been eavesdropping. What they saw was the thin face of Rowen Tregorian looking directly at Feronant with a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. “Beautiful Feronant. Now all you have to do is make sure she doesn't hire someone to take your real insides out of you. Then we have a pretty funny mess in the middle of the street.”

    Feronant rolled his eyes at the comment, “But that's why I have friends, so I can be forewarned if such a deed were to occur.”

    “And what would you do if you were so warned?”

    “I'd go running up to that woman and grab her hand and beg her for forgiveness. I'm sure, if he wasn't aware of exactly what she was, that our Lady Falant could almost charm our militant bishop into anything. Though if she wanted me dead our old Bishop would need very little coaxing to succeed in splitting my innards in twain, let me tell you.”

    “He's still mad about that little accident at the chapel?” Lerimar asked.

    Feronant nodded, grimly smiling, “Well, I tried to stop it when I found out where the whole mess was heading but it was way to far beyond the point of 'I need to get out of here quickly,' and I did warn him.”

    Rowen laughed quietly again, “That you did my friend. So maybe I should join you now instead of sitting here enjoying your banter.”

    Feronant, smiling again, welcomed his last companion with open arms, “Of course. You're the last of our troika. We were wondering what kept your lazy arse in bed when there was eating, drinking, wenching, and mischief to be had about town?”

    Rowen softly replied, “Common sense.”

    The forum where the Council of Ministers met was an imposing structure lined by impressive columns that reached to the overhanging ceiling that shaded the entrance to the building. The stone walls made sure that the place would be chilled no matter what the season, as it kept the frigidness of winter tightly wrapped to its chest. The people thought that it was appropriate that the stone was so cold, rigid and unyielding since it matched the temperament of those found within the walls. That temperament was one of constant suspicion mixed with jealousy and hated fueled by old wounds, bitter grudges and house loyalty that often went far above and beyond the benefit of the people. Those within the building rarely noticed that they were playing for more important things than the temperature of the building and the opinion of the populace.

    The three young Mosfinites made their way towards this monolithic stone building walking with the easy way of unjaded early years and in friendship. They were laughing, to various degrees of length and volume, pushing and acting quite like the young noble sons they were. When they arrived at the bottom of the steps, which were still brushed by sunlight, Lerimar asked, “What are we doing today, anyway? Neither of you have been very forth coming and I want to know.”

    Rowen smirked and turned to Feronant, “I thought you were going to tell him?”

    Feronant looked at his friend indignantly, “Me? This was your bright idea so I thought you were going to tell him?”

    “But I told you to tell him.”

    “And I said that since this was your bright idea on how to waste …”

    Lerimar raised his voice, “How about you both tell me now and have done with all this finger pointing. I swear it is as though the two of you were channeling your deceased mothers! Kalim knows they loved each other dearly but couldn't see more than half an eye to each other.”

    Feronant smiled at his slightly younger friend and said, “Fine then, enough communing with the dead. So, why don't I just explain —”

    Rowen broke in again, “But you'll mess it up. I'll just tell him —”

    “You'll do no such thing. I said that I —”

    Lerimar raised his hands in defeat, “Alright! I don't care anymore. I'll just follow you wherever you two want to go. Just as long as you stop nattering at each other as if you really were your poor deceased mothers. What would they say if they saw you two arguing the way you are?”

    Feronant's smile widened further, “She'd probably tell me that I should give that Rowen brat what for since his mother was such a stubborn mule.”

    Rowen added, “Mine would have said that I should kick that Feronant upstart whose mother thinks she's better than she actually was.”

    Lerimar sighed in exasperation letting his hands fall down to his sides, “I give up. You two can keep bickering while I go do something more interesting, like walking back to the marketplace and eating myself into a stupor.”

    “Well then, maybe you should. It'll put some meat on your bones.” Feronant quickly retorted, but just as fast put his hands up to placate the annoyed younger Rickson before he physically attacked him. “Look, I'll explain.” He leaned closer to his friend who moved in conspiratorially; “We're here to meet someone who might be able to help us get a piece of legislation passed in the Council of Ministers. We need to have the Veteran's Guild on our side to make the other houses fall into line. As it stands they're mostly undecided when it comes to what we want to go through. It's nothing offensive but will make things easier for the different house challengers to step forward which in turn will make it easier to disqualify them and reduce the number of eligible families to a more manageable number, weeding out the chaff, and over the years there are a lot of chaff.”

    Lerimar, placated slightly, asked, “But who are we meeting out here? And of all the places right in front of the forum? Shouldn't this be done in a more secluded place?”

    “Kalim's eyelashes my boy, definitely not! The person we're meeting has the face of Kalim herself, the lips of the divine, the mouth of a sailor and the ability to rip my head from my neck without even showing some strain. If anything would go south, I'd like to have people around me who can identify my assailant since the both of you will probably be dead.”

    A voice spoke out from behind them made all three turn around, “Well, it's good to know that you're intimidated by me. That way I know you'll squeal if I start to take out my sword.” The three young men turned around to see a woman standing there with her hair trailing down her shoulder, lips turned upwards, and a hand resting comfortably on her unadorned sword pommel.

    There was a pause as the three gentlemen considered what they could do, until both Lerimar and Rowen bumped Feronant forward, which seemed to get him going. “Of course we'd be squealing Heris, anyone caught in the glory that is your face would squeal with delight. Why just last week —”

    Heris Lacauld cut him off with a wave of her hand and a disgusted look in her eyes, “I didn't come all this way to be flattered by the likes of you Feronant Domar. If I want fawning attention I'll just walk down the street and be catcalled by fishmongers and featherweights. Get to the point before I really do make you squeal.”

    Feronant smiled, trying to gain control of the situation again without making it look like he was truly nervous, “Of course, of course. Don't want to take up your valuable time that could be better put to exercising your sparring abilities. What we want to talk to you about is this piece of legislation that House Mosfin wants to put through the Council of Ministers. It's nothing fancy, just something that will make it easier for certain members of the nobility to make a claim to the throne. What we really want to do is make sure that the Veteran's Guild is behind it. I know you have a few people who you would love to recommend as King, but sadly do not meet the current requirements demanded by the old laws. This would be an excellent opportunity for the Veteran's Guild to make some progress towards greater power and respect throughout the kingdom. Not only would you be dealing with the military might of the realm, but the political responsibility as well.”

    Heris's eyes narrowed in a mix of suspicion and contemplation that many nobles found they used when dealing with any of House Mosfin, “And what do I get out of this. I'm sure my guild will be quite fine without your piece of offal law you and your cow loving bastard house want to get through. So why would I care what you want me to do, by Ti'ishara's bloated eyeballs!”

    “Because I might recall an event about two weeks ago, where someone—correct me if I'm wrong—managed to, in front of your face no less, call you nothing but the Veteran's Guild set of overbearing breasts with a sword.” Heris bristled at the comment, “Not that I agree with him, mainly because I'm standing right in front of you within easy reach, but I can give you some satisfaction.”

    “Satisfaction?” The word was lead coming out of the thin line that was Heris' mouth.

    “Do I need to spell it out? I thought I had. You, him, dark alley, no witnesses, you can figure out the rest.”

    Heris slowly unwound her mouth until it was the full, sensuous thing it was at the beginning of the conversation. As soon as it had reshaped, with no hesitation, she answered, “I can. I'll set what you want up now. When do I get my payment?”

    “As soon as the bill passes my love, as soon as the bill passes.”

    “It'll pass today.”

    “I'm sure it will.”

    With that Heris stalked off towards the Forum, almost knocking over people in her eagerness for retribution.

    The two other Mosfinites slowly released breaths they did not know they were holding as they watched Heris walk away. It had been a tense moment, particularly considering whom they were talking to, but now that she had gone the weight had lifted and people could move, talk, and make their way through a previously oppressed area. Neither Rowen, nor Lerimar, said anything for a long time. They just enjoyed the sound of their breath returning to their lungs.

    Scratching his head slightly, Feronant turned back towards his two compatriots and broke the silence. “Now, that's twice someone has snuck up on me without warning from my friends. I thought you were supposed to be my warning signal if anything bad was going to happen. Heris Lacauld sneaking up on us would definitely qualify as a bad thing. Praise Kalim that we weren't saying anything within ear shot that would have offended the lady or else we might all be breathing through our stomachs.” He paused slightly to catch his breath, “Which would be a horrible waste of the wine we just drank. It needs to be fully digested before I'm eviscerated.”

    Rowen smirked and raised an eyebrow, “Well, one of those times was me. The other was when she surprised all of us. I'm allowed to make a few mistakes, I know you've make a few and are going to make many more before this is all finished.”

    “Well, it's a cause for worry. Maybe you're getting slow in your old age.”

    “Perhaps. Though I'm currently wondering why you gave her old Moldy. That wasn't part of the original plan.”

    Lerimar chose that moment to break into the conversation, “You did what? Weren't you the one who persuaded the drunken fool to goad the Veteran's Guild that night?”

    Feronant shrugged and smiled, “Well, I told him to take it to the Veteran's Guild. I didn't know he was going to be suicidal and take on Heris. Besides, I was getting tired of the old man always smelling like a distillery, asleep in his cups. It was beginning to be a disgrace to the house.”

    “He used to take care of Domian and I when where were children.”

    “Me too, my boy. It's sad to see someone in such decline.”

    The three friends sat outside in the sun waiting for the forum behind them to let out in recess. Heris had promised them immediate results for her payment, and while they all knew she would keep her word, most of the Veteran's Guild followed such strict moral guidelines, they did not expect anything to happen with any real speed. Nobility did not act in such a barbarically fast manner. These things took their time as debates would take place followed by debates of the debates, and then rehashing of the original argument followed by more debates until the original point was lost and the clerks had to remind the senators and noblemen and women what the original point was. So, it was with much surprise when it took merely a few hours for the forum behind the three to let out in recess as the nobles of the city began to filter through the large wooden doors to enjoy the small bit of time they had allotted themselves to delight in the early spring air today. The reds, purples and blues mixed with a staggering amount of gold and silver, since those noble houses loved their precious metals, which was blinding in the sunlight and awe inspiring in the shade. The factions began to shift into their own sections, like sticking to lodestone, with a few runners moving between the groups.

    “It amazes me,” Feronant remarked, “Everyone is still politically active even when at rest. The never ending dance.”

    The three young men watched the crowd mingle and disperse in a political pirouette with a kind of awe. It was a dance done all over the world, but when seen up close with an artists ability to read the ebb and flow of discourse even from a distance it had the ability to stun those who thought they had seen it all politically. And such a man who had seen it all did exist, and he was making his way towards the next generation of House Mosfin with his retinue in tow all decked in the purple and gold of the house. His entourage was too busy fawning and attempting to do things to help ease the Senator's aches, or problems, or potential disasters, or his signature, or his solutions on poverty but were doing nothing more than irritating him-flies at his picnic of life. Calmly raising his hand to stop the incessant buzzing, Senator Mirrows addressed his fellow members of the purple and gold.

    “Gentlemen,” he began, “apparently things are going well with the Veteran's Guild. Usually these things take more time but your choice in using Heris was inspired. That woman can get things done when she truly wishes to. We were debating the very law we wished you would campaign for, when Ms. Lacauld made her way to the Veteran's Guild side and drew away one of the major opponents to it. After approximately three hours of discussion he came back, a bit ashen faced, but he began to debate for us much to the dismay of House Bluefane, which was merely the extra bit of sugar to this sweet enterprise. This instance, as well as others, has gotten the leaders of House Mosfin to believe that you three need to play a larger role in regards to helping our House's candidate, particularly you Mr. Domar. I do not have much time, as our break is short, but I would like to talk to you this evening at my estate to bring you more into the forefront of our campaigning.” With that he nodded to the other two gentlemen, who had returned the acknowledgement with the most numb of nods, and made his way back to the forum, his retainers still fawning, and falling all over each other in their efforts to alleviate any of his lordship's problems.

    Rowen, having recovered first, said, “Well, that was interesting, what do you think?”

    Lerimar cocked his head sideways, “I wasn't expecting that.”

    Feronant turned on him, “You weren't expecting that? You, the both of you sitting there looking on as if you haven't just seen a friend of yours served a huge platter with a bull's eye painted right on it, the target of every assassin and cut purse who's dumb enough to think that I carry the weight of House Mosfin's bribes in my purse! I think I'm the only one who actually understands what has just happened, Kalim knows that the two of you are showing slowness on the uptake.”

    “But weren't you just promoted, from one of Mosfin's own influential senators?”

    “How about I promote you to being in charge of our campaign efforts in regards to the church, I'm sure Bishop Ospen would be dying to have a word with you about that one chapel incident?”

    “Wait a minute, that was your joke. I was just there.”

    “Exactly, and I'm sure the good Bishop would like that little piece of information.”

    “Feronant, what has made you angry enough to mix bile and poison with your jabs? You've been promoted, many people would and have killed to be in a position that was just given to you. In fact, I'm sure there are quite a few people who have already taken life to get a better position. Besides, I don't need to take your anger or anyone's anymore. Or do I need to remind my brother why he doesn't like you.”

    “Don't, I also don't need my head caved in before I assume my new position, and you know I haven't been looking for a more visible role! I hate working in the open; it means a whole new bag of tricks and a dagger in the back if you aren't paying attention. I'm not my mother, I do not have eyes in the back of my head.” He turned towards Rowan, “And the set of eyes I thought I did have don't work as well as I thought they did.”

    Rowan's lips turned upwards in a slight smirk, “So I have my off days. I missed one.”

    “One may be the dagger in my back.”

    “We'll just have to make sure that it's an actor's prop then, won't we.”

    “That, or at least make sure it's encrusted with jewels and driven in by a jealous husband.”

    “That too.”

    Both Rowan and Feronant stared at each other for a few moments before Lerimar, uncomfortable with the animosity he felt between two of his friends, suggested, “Should we go and celebrate, or just sit here and brood about it.”

    Rowan looked over first, casually breaking contact with Feronant, “Unfortunately not. While some of us have the ability to celebrate this great achievement, I have to go out to find either a jealous husband with a jeweled dagger, or an actor willing to part with his most prized possession.” Without waiting for a response from either of his friends, Rowan left to mingle among the crowds of the city.

    Lerimar clapped his hand on Feronant's shoulder, “Come on, let's go celebrate.”

    Feronant's reply was given without turning away from the retreating figure of Rowan, “What? My greater role, or Rowan's deception?”

    Lerimar chuckled slightly at that, “Funny.”

    “Maybe we should head to the church before we hit the tavern.”

    “Why, found religion?”

    “No, the sky is falling.”