[Taralphiel]

Sorn took an uncomfortable moment looking at Scyld, studying the lines in his face, deducing what was masked in his expression. He liked these developments less and less. Scyld was plotting something all to his advantage, and none to Sorn’s. But that was Scyld.

Sorn’s demeanour quickly changed to an odd smile, and he clapped a hand onto Scyld’s shoulder, gearing him towards the stairs.

“Well, let us see how we go reasoning with royalty! I have not conversed with the Lady in a while, I am beginning to miss that sour expression!”

Scyld looked wearily at Sorn, tired of his theatrics no doubt. But he had more to lose than he knew. Walking carefully down the steps, Scyld stopped a few paces before the cell, but Sorn stood almost pressed to the steel bars. Linduial bore a look of thorough disgust, which only served to amuse him.

“I see you do not approve of the meals provided. It seems to suit Scyld rather well to have it dripping from him, but it does also look such a waste!” Sorn unclasped the sheath of a small dagger on his belt, and watched Linduial pale slightly.

“I am afraid my Lady, that if I must eat such a breakfast, so must you. I believe in being equal, at least in that respect…” Sorn knelt down, peering through the bars at the young lady’s eye-level.

“But I feel that there are matters more pressing than your breakfast. Perhaps you wish to complain that Scyld is not a fair discussion partner? You seem to enjoy talking to length with him, or am I wrong?” Sorn continued to fiddle with the edge of the dagger, sliding the blade against the leather sheath. The young lady did not have a chance to reply, as Sorn’s voice took a louder and more menacing tone.

“Perhaps you feel wronged to be here, is that the case? You feel you should be set free to enjoy the pleasures of MY land, my people’s land, with your wonderful Queen? AH! That MUST be what you are thinking! But you are young and have much to learn, My Lady…”

The last words came out with a jutting and icy glare. By now the dagger Sorn had been thumbing was cut clean through it’s thin sheath and was pressed to Sorn’s strained thigh. The Lady watched the blood pool and spill down Sorn’s calf. Sorn seemed oblivious to it all, and kept his eyes on Linduial.

“I am not simple, much as you would like to think so. The people of this land will not bear subjugation through marriage to your lands! Pity keep the fool that thinks such a marriage be for good will between our cities!” Sorn’s register was dropping and rising in an uncomfortable way, and Scyld had begun to shift on his feet behind him. By now Sorn’s dagger had sunk almost a half fingers length into his thigh, and without a grimace he plucked it out. Standing, the blood ran over his boots. Sorn looked down and regarded the small wound a moment, before suddenly turning and moving to Scyld’s side.

“Good Scyld…a good worker. ALWAYS performing his duties, nary a word against anyone. Oh, would you enjoy me thinking that? I know you think ill of me…wish it to me. I do not blame you. You’ve been here altogether…too long…”

Sorn did not even know what he meant by those words, but his dagger was still in his hand, and his finger twitched violently. He did not know what was stopping him sinking the dagger into Scyld, cutting his life to pieces. Maybe it was the looks in the Lady Linduial’s eyes. He felt some strange emotion arise out of the look the young woman gave him. Hate, disgust, indifference were all another matter. This Lady looked at him as if he were a man with no control of his senses. A madman. Sorn put on his most charming smile, though his voice still sounded erratic.

“Do NOT talk to the Lady under any circumstances.” With a sidewards glace at Linduial, he said softly “She does not wish to be responsible for my outbursts, and wherever they leave you…”

It seemed then that Sorn took an entirely different tangent, deciding to try to frighten his own employee. Scyld did not move as Sorn then whispered in his ear.

“Remember the last one? Remember the foolish family and their brave son? Perhaps he lived, though it would be in a great deal of pain. How many limbs of his did I break? You did not seem to like his piteous cries. I saw the look of grief on your face. It is still there…”

Sorn moved away just as quickly, not even a limp from the cut in his flesh. Bounding up the stairs, he strode back into his study and produced a thick cloth. He roughly tied it around his leg to stop what little bleeding was left. Rolling his shoulder and pacing, he felt he had more ‘energy’ to exert, but few to exert it upon. This vexed him, and with a sudden growl his stuck his bloody blade deep into the wood of his desk.

Staring at the blood sinking into the veins of the wood, Sorn battled with the fact that no matter how hard he might seek it, complete control of his plans would be utterly unobtainable.