A low mist hung heavily in the air. A damp chill, the kind that sinks deep into your bones. The weather he could manage, it was the throbbing pain upon his forehead that concerned Ardyn at this moment. He was on his knees, one hand pressed against the dew-drenched grass and the other still grasping the hilt of his sword. It was no good, however, no counter moves, or trickery were possible. Not while the blade of his adversary was placed so close to his neck it drew blood.
“I suppose you think you got the better of me?” asked a man, tall and broad in stature and speaking with a heavily authoritative voice. “But here we stand. Well, here I stand. You, however, are down in the dirt, where you belong.” This was no ordinary brute, but a man of means. A man so influential in the land that he could kill someone within spitting distance of a guardsman and have them turn a blind eye. That was true power, it was unquestionable, the power of intimidation and corruption of the law.
“I suppose this is where I beg for my life?” asked Ardyn. Now, Ardyn was a different sort entirely. He of course presented himself well enough, and one might think he was of means himself, but it was nothing but a common scoundrel of the worst kind. There are several words that could sum Ardyn Everett up as a whole, many of them not exactly pleasant. Charming, witty and agreeable, maybe. But his hands were far from clean. He would sooner sell his own mother if it meant a profit. Unreliable to all except himself, who was the sole benefactor of his interest. He was not a stranger to crossing blades, far from it. It was just the other week that he killed a man for one insult or another. An argument, I might add, that he himself started.
“Beg? No, Everett. Oh no, I would have you crawl over to me as you are and kiss my boot. Then, and only then, will I deem whether you should live or die!”
Death by this hand would be quite an achievement. Perhaps a little more elaboration is required to ascertain just how important this man is. This was Lord Rufus Matravers, a wealthy and influential figure to all within a hundred leagues. To get to this point, although by all account a low point right now, Ardyn had to work his way into his inner circle by lying and cheating his way into his favour. Then, and only then, could he take on the patrician himself. Not with a sword, that came later, but in a gambling ring which was exclusive to only a select few. The current situation was a simple matter of honour.
“Good Lord,” started Ardyn, lifting his head and wincing as he did so. “There is no doubt that you have indeed bested me in swordplay, but I assure you that I bested you in cards and-” he quickly added as Matravers opened his mouth, “I did so on the square!”
“No one beats me. Not in my circle!” said Matravers.
“With respect, good Lord, it is a matter of chance. We cannot always be winners. The luck was simply in my favour this time.”
“No.” replied Matravers, angling his blade so the point of it was set directly at Ardyn’s throat. “You see, now I know you’re lying to me. There was no way you would have come up with those cards.”
Ardyn released his blade and opened his palms as a gesture of peace. “My Lord, you must…”
“Do you know how I know that?” asked Matravers. “Because that is not the hand that I had delt to you.”
Lying, cheating and no small degree of malicious intent. Yes, these were the things that Ardyn Everett knew best. For his entire life he sought to squeeze gold from people, even when he was a boy. He would trick innocent children into doing his bidding, thinking it was in their best interest. Meticulous, cunning and devious, three more words to add to the list. He grew out of that, however, on the account of getting one boy killed when he was but eight years of age. I did warn you; this man was far from the gallant sort.
“Hoodwinked by a master! I salute you, sir. I do!” Ardyn beamed at Matravers with genuine admiration. “To which I must say…” A flash of steel, a dagger appeared at Rufus Matravers throat. “Check mate” finished Ardyn.
“Savick!” cried Rufus, completely stunned by the betrayal that had just taken place. Savick was Rufus’ personal bodyguard and had been for years. He considered the cutthroat his most trusted henchmen. How could this be?
“Drop the blade” said Savick in a gruff voice. Matravers obliged allowing Ardyn to climb to his feet, dusting off his muddy knees.
“It would seem we’re cut from the same cloth, my Lord” said Ardyn, bending down to pick up his own blade. “Savick here didn’t even need much persuading. In fact, I’d say he would have done it for free.”
“Not quite” said Savick, placing a hand upon his former employer’s shoulder and adjusting the blade closer to his throat. “But by the Gods, the years I’ve had to sit and watch you in your idleness and pomposity, it’s enough to turn any man’s stomach. Even me. So, when Ardyn here offered me a share of the winnings, how could I say no?”
“Yes, yes that’s quite alright Savick. No need to give him the full story” interrupted Ardyn. “Just kill him and get it over with.”
“K-Kill!?” said Matravers, sweat forming upon his brow.
“Oh yes, you die tonight my Lord. I would go to the effort to have you… how was it? Crawl over to me and kiss my boot? But I’m not a vindictive sort. No, better for you just to have your throat cut here and now.”
“Please, I-” But it was too late. Savick slid his blade across the Lord’s throat and blood poured from the wound. Matravers body slumped to the ground with a soft splatter, blood mingled with mud.
“You’ve no idea how I’ve longed to do that” said Savick, wiping his blade on Matravers’ garments. “He was a disgusting creature, like most of his ilk.”
“But quite the con artist, it would seem” said Ardyn, tossing a coin purse to Savick. “You’ve earned it, and I may call upon your services in the near future.”
“Much obliged” said Savick, placing the coin purse upon his person.
As the cutthroat made his way out of the clearing and into the trees, Ardyn stood above his would-be killer and sheathed his sword. Bloodshed wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed, but the thrill of victory was intoxicating. No doubt there would be quite a stir in the nearby town having lost such prominent member of society. It would feed the gossips for a week or two, until it became old news or another of his kind seized the territory. Then, the cycle would continue, another victim of Ardyn’s lust for riches. A dangerous and vicious cycle indeed.
