The Timeline of Tauber - The Nobility Cracks - 852

Noravia de Faulte’s heels clacked loudly on the marble tiled floor of the corridors of the palace of Moonreach. The sound reverberated off the stone walls, which were only partially covered with tapestries and other sound-dampening materials. Such were the pace of the footfalls that the sounds overlapped in a sea of noise that did a fine job of accurately conveying the agitated state of their creator.

She wasn’t the only one. In her wake, a cluster of other nobles, including her sister Claudette, leant their footfalls to the percussive symphony. Unified in their love of fine materials, makeup, masquerade masks, and other eccentricities that only the rich or powerful would dare consider, they were nevertheless clearly individuals in competition with one another for the most flamboyant countenance.

Despite the rage swirling through her thoughts, Noravia found herself surprised by the lack of resistance to their progress. Such guards as they encountered had treated them with a deference befitting their titles. Either they had not yet heard of the King’s recent edicts or else did not want to become involved in a power struggle between their social battles.

Now the party had arrived on the main corridor leading to the great double doors of the throne room. They were closed, which was a common state for them to be these days, and were flanked by a pair of guards that Noravia was certain would have to challenge their presence. She drew herself up to her full height, looked imposingly down her elegantly pointed nose, and prepared to bring the full force of her noble upbringing to bear. That was, until she heard the noise.

The end of the corridor intersected with another perpendicular to it so that, from the throne room doors, passageways lead off to the left and right. And, from the left hand passageway, the clip clop of hooves cut across the, by comparison, timid efforts of the nobles’ footfalls. It was a sound Noravia knew all too well and she halted her own progress and stretched our her arms, causing her companions to come to a staggered halt behind her, leaving only the hooves to ring out ominously in the otherwise silent space.

The equine beast that eventually rounded the corner was indeed magnificent, Noravia had to begrudgingly admit. Its white coat shone with an inner luminescence and powerful muscles rippled beneath with every purposeful step. And yet what marked this mount apart from others was the silvery, spiral cone that protruded from the creature’s brow.

The unicorn’s rider was equally as grandiose. Replete in full riding attire and with a hawk’s head mask concealing the upper portion of his gaunt visage, Viscount Comte de Faulte rocked easily in the saddle, matching the unicorn’s undulating movements with the easy grace of a seasoned rider. He halted his mount with a slight tug of the reins, barring the way to the throne room and looking down at his fellow nobles with haughty disdain.

“Uncle,” said Moravia. She found herself starting to incline her head and halted the movement. She did not wish to convey any shred of respect, no matter how slight.

“Noravia!” the Viscount replied, and he did incline his head, though the grin that split his features gave lie to any respect he was feigning. “And Claudette! What an unexpected surprise!”

“So unexpected that you were here to greet us?”

Viscount de Faulte shook his head. “I live here,” he reminded her, “unlike you. Last I heard you were banished. Something to do with plotting against the King? Against his Dominion?”

“Poisoned lies fed to His Majesty,” Noravia snapped, “and I can guess who by.”

The Viscount looked about himself theatrically before turning back to his audience, one hand held to his chest, fingers splayed. “Can you really be talking about me? Surely not!”

“You know I am.”

“Such vile accusations!”

“Truthful allegations,” Noravia countered.

Comte shrugged, dropping the pretence. “Don’t be mad because I told our king about your little plot. Rather, be happy that exile was the only punishment.”

“There was no plot,” Noravia insisted.

“The King thinks otherwise.”

“Because you told him to.”

The Viscount actually guffawed at that. “You think I have any real influence over King Chernitt?”

“When you tell the King something and his response is to banish us without a second thought?” said Claudette. “Yes!”

“Oh, you do speak!” the Viscount mocked. “Stepping out of your sister’s shadow?”

“I’ll do more than that,” Claudette raged. She made to lunge forward but Noravia extended an arm to block her.

“Such a temper!” said Comte. “I’d take heed of your sister, if I were you. After all, you came here to talk, did you not?”

“We want the King to hear our side,” said Noravia. “We are entitled to due process.”

“Due process?” the Viscount mocked. “Please! What has happened to you, dear niece? You lost. You’ve been banished. It’s over.”

Noravia glared up at her uncle, who matched her gaze with a cool one of his own. Confident to the point of arrogance, and why wouldn’t he be? He’d convinced the King of a plot that didn’t exist. He’d implicated numerous nobles, most of them rivals to his own position.

“Why?” she asked at last.

“Why what?”

“Why did you tell the King that we were plotting against him?”

“Because you were,” said Comte. “I saw you with him,” and here he laced his words with a sarcastic, mocking tone, “the great Earl Marshall Negroli.”

“That’s what this is about?” asked Noravia, pieces falling into place in her mind’s eye. “Your rivalry with him?”

“There is no rivalry,” Comte snapped.

Noravia smiled. For the first time during this exchange, her uncle appeared rattled. “The Earl Marshall agrees,” she said. “He thinks you could never be anywhere near his equal.”

“Need I remind you,” the Viscount snarled, “that I received my current steed because I bested Negroli in combat?”

“You need not remind me,” Noravia retorted, “that you did so by killing his mount. I know who my money would be on in a fair fight.”

“Enough!”

Viscount de Faulte’s bark brought an end to the exchange. He was sat stiff and upright now. His eyes were hard. His jaw was clenched. Gone was the easy nonchalance with which he had greeted them, to be replaced with an angry sullenness.

Noravia felt the pressure build in the air between them. The sensation originated from her uncle and reached out with invisible tendrils towards her, probing at her consciousness. King Chernitt’s ascension had granted his chosen nobles access to magics previously inaccessible to mortals. It allowed them to unnaturally extend their lives, amongst other things. Viscount de Faulte was an astute practitioner of these dark arts. He was not the only one.

Noravia responded to his intrusion with magic of her own. Access to the arcane was particularly strong around the palace, the seat of King Chernitt’s power, and Noravia drew on this reservoir now, channelling it into her own counter-offensive.

Uncle and niece remained deadlocked in a battle of wills. Noravia could feel Comte trying to drain her of energy and countered wit her own magics designed to deplete the Viscount of his strength. Both combatants grimaced as the ebb and flow took its toll, but Noravia could feel the gaze of her fellow exiles upon her and dug deep, finding extra reserves from their judgement, if not their support.

Noravia lost track of how long their invisible duel continued before they were interrupted by a grinding as the heavy double doors to the throne room were pulled ponderously open. As if both combatants had been waiting for such an excuse to stop, Comte and Noravia ceased their exertions almost simultaneously. Noravia hid the effect of her labours well, maintaining her imperious poise in front of her peers. She took great delight in noting the way her uncle slumped slightly in the saddle and wondered if she would have emerged victorious if the conflict had gone on just a little longer. Any jubilation was short-lived, however, as she shifted her gaze to the figure now framed in the doorway.

King Chernitt was an imposing sight. Noravia remembered when he had first ascended to the throne, all those long years ago. He had only grown in both power and stature since then. It wasn’t his regal attire, his immaculate grooming, or even the strength of his stare that set him apart. He had an aura of power about him. Seeing him now, Noravia was acutely aware of how much of a fool she had been to come here, even backed as she was by so many fellow nobles. Still, she had come this far. She had to at least try.

“Sire,” she said, “it is good to-”

Chernitt silenced her with a wave of his hand. It wasn’t just a gesture; the action carried with it a wave of power, a hint of what he could do to her if he so chose.

“Comte,” said King Chernitt, his voice rich and powerful as his eyes turned to the Viscount, “you seem to have been exerting yourself.”

“A bit of sport, Sire,” said Comte.

“Maybe so,” said Chernitt, “but are you the hunter or the prey, I wonder?”

Comte had no response to this and Noravia smirked at his discomfort.

Chernitt turned his piercing gaze upon Noravia and she could not help but shy away from the force of it. “Why have you come?”

“To seek clemency, Sire,” said Noravia, struggling to keep the sudden tremble from her voice.

“Was I not clear when I banished you?”

“If you would but hear our side-”

“I made my decision,” said Chernitt. “It is not for you to challenge a king’s will.”

“Comte has led-”

“Silence,” Chernitt snapped. The King’s hand lashed out and this time Noravia did feel the force of his power. The blast of energy drove her to a knee and she was forced to put a hand to the marble floor to steady herself.

“That position suits you,” the Viscount remarked, a touch of his old arrogance returning as a smirk tugged at his lips.

Noravia ignored him. “Sire, we are loyal nobles-”

“Loyal?” said Chernitt. “Questionable. Nobles?” He shrugged. “You may keep your titles. They are irrelevant to me. Let them be a reminder of what you once had. Your lands and your fortunes shall be transferred to the crown, to do with as I see fit.”

“Sire!” Claudette protested.

“Don’t,” Noravia cautioned.

Chernitt laughed. “I see you have learned some wisdom, at least, even if you have not exercised it in choosing to come here. Now go. If you return, it will be more than just your titles that I will be taking from you.”

Noravia looked up at her king but he was already returning to his throne room. Wearily, oh so wearily, she pushed herself to her feet. For a moment she considered saying something more, trying to get across the point of view of the nobles she represented, but she knew it would do no good. The doors shut once more with a booming finality and she was forced to turn and lead her peers from the scene of their defeat, all too conscious of the supercilious gaze of her uncle savouring her shameful retreat.