The King's Study

“Inquisitor!” The man strode over towards him, he wore a flowing long red cloak with golden trim, and a dazzling, jewelled crown. King Streylen was an old man, that much was clear, but he exerted an energy that seemed to flood the dimly lit study, “Can I get you a drink?”

Deadrick nodded, and the King went over to a bar in the corner, and began to pour a bottle of ale.

Deadrick glanced at Nerui.

“Keep your hands away from the crown,” He said.

Nerui smiled back.

“I’ll try,” She grinned.

Streylen handed Deadrick a glass of ale, Nerui declined.

“Now, Inquisitor, what can I do for you?” The King asked.

Danyel had come to their room and informed them that the King was prepared to give Deadrick audience. He was stood against the far room, hands behind his back, watching the situation carefully.

“It’s about the Unholy, your majesty,” Deadrick said. The king’s face dropped, suddenly showing his age.

“Them buggers again?” The king chuckled sorrowfully, “Right pain in the back side, they are,”

“Yes. But it’s different this time,”

The King looked him in the eye.

“Different… how?” It wasn’t so much a question, as a desperate plea to not deliver any more bad news.

Deadrick sighed and balled his fists.

“I witnessed a civil meeting between the Nosferana, the Wicca and the Lycankin,” Deadrick said, bluntly.

The King’s face was shocked; even Nerui took a sharp intake of breath.

“What…?” The king gasped, he took a few steps backwards and sat down heavily on an armchair, “You must be mistaken!”

Deadrick shook his head solemnly.

“No, it was a meeting. At the Altar at the foot of the Darkened Spine Mountains, and that’s not all,”

The King didn’t even flinch.

“They plan an uprising,” The words were like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

The King regained his composure and rose steadily to his feet.

“Impossible,” The King replied, the air around him suddenly cold and final, “They are too weak. A nuisance, an occasional small threat. But not as much of a problem as you are making out,”

“Your Majesty, they made reference to a-” Deadrick tried to inform the King of what the Unholy had talked about, but the King would have no more.

“Inquisitor, thank you for informing us of the strange activity of the Unholy, we will make sure to investigate it, although, I assure you that it’s nothing to be alarmed about,”

Deadrick could’ve tried to get his point across again, but he knew it was futile. Streylen was the peoples king, he kissed babies and helped old women across the street, but if he finished a conversation, it stayed finished.

“Goodnight, Inquisitor, and Goodnight you too, Nerui,” The King said, turning towards the arch window. Danyel strode across the room and opened the door; Deadrick’s audience with the King was over.

“I’ll go, but hear this, Streylen, you will seriously regret this,” With that, Deadrick left the room, all respect for the King cast into oblivion.

The End

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