Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Drama

White. White walls, white marble on the floor, white ceiling, white brazier, white statues, even white benches and vases. Those who built the Chancellor's Palace in the first place, the Founders, regarded white as the color of peace and dominance. Later on, a few more meanings were added to the mix, like purity, excellence and transparency, all in an attempt to connect the interior of this building to its actual residents. The atmosphere and furnishing in the Palace were so surreal and bizarre, that an unaccustomed visitor would regard such setting as welcome refreshment from the garish and mostly distasteful mess of colors in mansions of the rich. However, eventually everyone comes to the same verdict that it was all far from astonishing and pleasing, but rather dull and daunting. 
It sure was true for Lucca, one of the five hundred real ghosts of this place, silent until spoken to, motionless until commanded otherwise, duty and obedience carved in the consciousness as a lifelong credo – they were the sworn swords of the realm, the chancellor's very own division. And so, two soldiers, mindful of their privilege, honored and delighted to wear unique green cloaks of elite guard on top of shining polished armor, stood on either side of a heavy door, protecting the chancellor's privacy. Or rather staring at this same exact hall day after day, counting seconds until the sentry changes. Such were the thoughts of Lucca Benevento every time someone complements or loudly admires his service. It was not how he imagined it back then, when he listened, holding his breath, to the countless stories mother told him about long forgotten knights, wars and heroic deeds. Lucca’s biggest desire was to emulate military geniuses like Cosimo the Unyielding, who singlehandedly defeated four tribe chiefs of savage invaders from the mountains up north, or “Shrewd” Claudius Debreze, who turned a tremendous murrain in the camp to his own advantage, and by catapulting plagued cattle over enemies’ walls inflicted almost immediate surrender, but such fame could never be acquired by babysitting an old chancellor, could it? So, all that was left to Lucca during sentry was count every second towards the regular session in the training yard, where at least he was able to release the anger inside on the straw dummies, or revisit ancient legends, hoping that someday one becomes true. 
As far as late Lady Benevento’s tales were concerned, the one which got most firmly stuck in Lucca’s memory was a story about the creation of the Republic – hardly surprising, since granite statues of all the Founders were right there, embellishing the corridor leading up to chancellor’s chambers, all except one… In the far left corner of the passage stood an empty pedestal, a sticking imperfection completely out of line with everything this palace was so eager to impose. Any uninformed visitor wouldn’t even figure out whose memory it was supposed to preserve, as even the letters on the nameplate were violently scratched out, but all the citizens of Avaritia knew, passing on the deeds of this cast out founder to the next generation and the next. 
"Around five hundred years ago, Chancellor's Palace didn't exist, our marvellous capital didn't exist, in fact, Avaritia itself wasn't even there – only scattered tribes across the land, constantly fighting in endless dispute, - often began her narration Lady Eleanor and started to turn over the shabby pages of ancient scrolls, filled with obscure paintings Lucca liked to dissect. – The long awaited changes were made only when the heathens from mountain clans, maddened by the thirst for blood descended upon the northern villages. When the help arrived they found only ruins and ashes, the population completely exterminated, anything remotely valuable taken, and the message written in human blood on the snow was sending shivers down the spines' of even the bravest of warriors. "Only Blood Pays For Blood Your Time Is Near". After that unambiguous threat, long and hard thinking was in order. Your great ancestor Giustiniano Benevento convened a grand council of the chiefs of nine tribes south of the mountains and proposed a union, and to prevent it branded as annexation, he also introduced the voting system. As it often happens, dread prevailed against pride and in light of the unprecedented threat, the chiefs put aside their enmities and agreed to choose a leader of the union amongst themselves. The first voting was messy, wild and certainly involved some throats slit along the way, but eventually the fate of the young republic was settled. The people placed their trust, surprisingly, in wisdom and experience rather than in force, despite the open war being declared. The first ever chancellor was an old and fragile general from the western counties, whose most distinguishing feature was an unnatural snow-white skin and a peculiar signature ring, formed as a claw. After the chiefs combined their armies, the victory was only the matter of time: numbers, armament, overall spirit – all spoke in Avaritians' favor. When the highlanders were thrown back to their misty mountaintops, it was finally time to establish a real community, lay down a keystone upon which the new civilization will thrive. So, they created this city, the Palace, founded the infamous golden mines, reformed the voting, limited the chancellor's serving time and left all the disputes and savagery behind… well, almost. 
On the new elections eve the Pale General invited eight other founders to a grand warriors' tourney to celebrate five years of peace in Avaritia. The fighting grounds were located just outside the Palace in the front yard, and while all the invited were busy admiring competitors' skills and praising the host's generosity, no one noticed archers positioned in each window of the mansion. When the knights mounted for a first melee, the chancellor clapped his white hands and the arrows filled the air, monstrous screams, groans and pleas for mercy barely drowning out the maniacal laughter of the Pale General. A day after, on what now is known as the Judgement Square, he proclaimed himself King of Avaritia and issued a death penalty for anyone who dared to oppose his "divine power". Many thought that the King was completely out of his mind, he expelled all the councilmen, all the servants from the Palace in paranoid fear for his own life. It was rumored that he even had dozens of black and white cats living in his chambers, as somehow he got the idea that they can protect him from the spirits of the dead. Naturally though, it was the living who gave the Pale General his due. Giustiniano Benevento's son managed to avenge his father's unjust and barbaric murder by disguising himself as the elite guardian and poisoning some of the cat's claws. Inevitably, after some time the King "peacefully perished from old age" and the retribution began, anger and blind rage filled the streets of the capital. The mob were screaming their heads off, demanding the public execution of the royal family and the immediate return to electoral system. Those who managed to fill the void of authority handled this mess rather smoothly and civilly. Instead of chopping the heads of innocent women and suckling babes who had a misfortune to be heirs of the Pale General, they simply expelled the direct descendants from the realm, ensuring that no blood successor will ever take up the claim for Avaritia. So, the Tyrant's legacy was destroyed, his family gone, his name forever forgotten, statue of honor demolished. The Pale General, however old and experienced he was, still wasn't able to grasp an undeniable truth that a ruler seems above everyone else only as long as his subjects are holding him up. You betray people's trust, your rule ends, one way or the other, it's as simple as that. Remember that, Lucca, if you ever hope to reign over men." 
When he was little this story used to ignite him, bring forth strong emotions, make him proud of his lineage, but now, staring at an empty platform, Lucca just missed his mother’s gentle voice more than anything. Her ancient legends became a phantom thread connecting the worlds of the living and the dead, the only thing for Lucca to hold on to, to preserve the image of Lady Eleanor for years and years to come. 
Echoing steps down the hallway snapped Lucca out of his thoughts, and an expressive glance from his fellow partner made him focus on the silhouettes approaching the chancellor’s chamber. When they were finally close enough to distinguish their faces, Lucca’s eyebrows started to crawl up. With a confident gait and a wide grin on his face, Lord Emilio Benevento was marching towards the sentry, accompanied by another guard.
It was safe to say, that Lord Emilio hasn’t always regarded his son with a warm smile, when he was wearing a green cloak. Back on his 16th name day Lucca stormed in Lord Emilio’s study to announce that he couldn’t help but despise the family business, and from now on wants to be a warrior and a true leader of men. It was hard to say, what contributed to this ultimatum more, endless tiring lessons on trade and politics or the amount of drank ale that evening, but nevertheless harsh words of truth broke loose and Lord Emilio’s reaction was prompt and quite unexpected. Instead of yelling, shaming, threatening or using any other sort of mental influence, the head of Benevento family publicly excluded Lucca from inheritance, wrote a stingy letter to commander Rizzo and instructed his son to leave the mansion by nightfall. “You were born in prosperity, and your future has been already determined for that you are my son! When I’m gone you were supposed to be Ettore’s right hand, his most trusted partner, but you chose to throw that privilege at our faces, and so be it! I won’t stand in your way, but you’ll have to power through it yourself!” After those words Lucca and Lord Emilio haven’t spoken nor seen each other in more than half a year, son too stubborn, and father too arrogant to make the first step. The ice finally melted after the Acceptance Trials when in one-on-one combat Lucca firmly stood his ground against even more seasoned soldiers. After such display of bravery and skill, even Lord Emilio had to accept that sword and shield were Lucca’s destiny and not feather and parchment.
“I am here to see chancellor Scordato at once. Please, be so kind to announce my presence.” – curtly stated Lord Emilio, due to strict subordination protocol giving no hint of awareness that his son stands in front of him.
“At once, my lord, - responded Lucca, turned on his heels and entered the chancellor’s chamber. 
As soon as the door swung open, the chancellor jumped to his feet, but once he realized it was just Lucca his facial muscles nervously contracted, portraying a smile. 
“Lord Emilio Benevento is requesting an audience, your magnificence”
Chancellor loudly exhaled in relief and collapsed back into his chair. 
“Emilio…yes, yes, certainly, let him inside at once. Only him, yes, no one else. Hear me, no one else!”
Lucca was taken aback by such fear and nervousness in chancellor's tone, his tongue was itching to ask who was Scordato expecting and so much afraid of, but his judgment got the better of him, and he simply withdrew with a resolve to keep the eyes wide open. 
“Isn’t your sire holding some important dinner or somethin’?” – asked curiously Lucca’s partner - “so what’s he doing here then? No one told us he had an appointment.” 
“I haven’t seen my father in ages, how I am supposed to know?!” –replied Lucca annoyingly, primarily because the exact same question troubled him as well. 
Another couple of minutes passed in complete silence and the scene submerged back to the same lifeless, dull atmosphere that was taken as a good sign in the Palace. Despite the apparent calmness, despite nothing ever happening in this particular hall, or any other hall for that matter, the guardian has no choice but to always stay alert and always be on edge. All the time. No exceptions. Old veterans often say that there will be a moment, a brief, fleeting second, when you will need to react quickly and efficiently. A moment, which will perhaps put a perpetual stain on your career, get you dismissed from service, even prosecuted, or … or you will continue like nothing ever happened, with no reward, no pat on the back, no songs chanted about you in a tavern, you will just keep standing still, waiting for another test of life and death. 
The scream came from behind closed doors, harrowing, almost inhuman, penetrating the thin canvas of serenity and peace. Two guards immediately span around and with all their might pushed the wooden doors open. You always imagine that when you see a person in desperate need of help you will jump in to alleviate his suffering that you will be decisive, prompt and composed. Lucca was no stranger to such thoughts, and considering the manner of his job, he definitely shouldn’t have been, but he and his partner just stood there, unable to make a single step towards Jenoah Scordato. 
The chancellor lay down on the floor, his hands still gripping the arm wrists of a chair. Scordato's body was convulsively twitching, blood was pouring down from his mouth onto his doublet in a steady scarlet stream, accompanied by thick white foam and the sound that was coming out of his throat was haunting and demonic, a sound of desperate man, fighting for breath with all his strength. However horrible, all those details became irrelevant as soon as Lucca glanced on Scordato's face. He never felt and probably will never feel the same terror that consumed him in sight of poor chancellor's features that left absolutely no question on the matter of Scordato's demise. Veins on his neck and face became heavily swollen and turned dark purple, like thousands of tiny vicious cuts, while the skin around them looked like an old, abandoned parchment – grey and lifeless. But the eyes, the eyes were the most shocking and sickening, the pupil was rolled all the way up, the iris not even simply red, which is common in poisoning, but deep dark blue, almost black. As soon as Lucca glimpsed the state of the eyes, he instantly knew the name and the origin of the venom that killed the chancellor, as if the poisoner didn't even care to be discreet nor subtle, as if the purpose was not only murder itself, but the most gruesome, painful and obvious way of it. "The Vulture's Kiss" as it was commonly called was probably the most traceable and expensive poison one could find in Avaritia. In compulsory lessons from renowned healers every guard learned the history and symptoms of this venom, but no living man has seen it truly work before. The last time anyone received a vulture's kiss was when the Pale General executed a servant whom he suspected of conspiracy by offering him a glass of wine…
Lucca’s partner was the first to shake off the temporary paralysis. He cursed loudly, nearly tripped over the cloak while turning on his hills and ran out of the room to ring the alarm. As soon as the other guard was out of sight, Lord Emilio hastily grabbed Lucca by the shoulders and started speaking, abruptly and anxiously. 
“They will lock me up, but it won’t matter…In my study, the chest … far left corner of the room, the letters … the proof … DON’T LET THEM TAKE IT! Don’t …” – this mess of ragged phrases and unfinished thoughts was all Lord Emilio could tell before the guard returned with heavy back up and the sentry sergeant. 
“Get away from him now!” – shouted the sergeant unsheathing his sword, - “You are going to answer for this with your head, you Benevento scum!”
“No, no, no” – desperately muttered Lucca, “He didn’t kill him, there is no way…”
“You better shut your fucking mouth before I put you down as an accomplice!” – croaked the sergeant even louder and pointed the sword tip directly at Lucca helmet, “Someone get the healer and the councilmen in this room immediately!”
Next couple of minutes passed in a complete silence. Lucca and the sergeant staring each other down, Lord Emilio stood leaning on a table with blank eyes locked on something on the floor, other guards crowded near the entrance, weary of making another step into a room marked by death. 
All loyal councilmen to the exception of Lords Cantarini and Vieri who attended the feast entered the chambers almost simultaneously, followed by a chancellor’s own healer who immediately dropped on his knees before Scordato’s lifeless body and started chaotically rummaging through different herbs. First questor Eusebio Succi came forward inspecting the scene through a single monocle, while constantly covering his nose with perfumed shawl. The rotten smell of a dead body finally started to break through and even the open window didn’t make enough of a difference. 
While Eusebio was slowly wandering around the room like a lost dog trying to sniff her way back to a trail, everyone else stood bewildered, clearly expecting Succi to take charge. Not even half an hour had passed since the chancellor stopped breathing and the country already head its new unexpected leader. The honorary, almost meaningless title of designated regent, bestowed on Succi for his exceptional success in overseas trade, has now became a flagship of power, at least until the elections. The Republican wheel just kept rolling, leaving no time for acceptance or sentiments. 
The first one to break the uneasy silence was the sentry captain.
“It was Emilio Benevento, my lord Regent.” - spoke the sergeant, triumphantly gazing at Eusebio, “He was the one who murdered the chancellor, no doubt about that.” 
Lucca’s blood started to boil by the time the captain finished, the urge to beat the living hell out of Pietro Bangone was almost impossible to resist, but he kept his cool, knowing that any spark could potentially ignite serious problems for him and his family. The commander of the elite guard, however, didn’t have any reasons to hold back. 
“You got any proof in that windbag head of yours, eh?” – lashed out ser Rizzo, sticking out his neck and awkwardly leaning forward as he often did when being wroth, “And why are you holding your sword like a bloody stick dim-witted kids poke each other with? Sheathe it back, damn it, he isn’t likely to give you the taste of his steel now, is he?!”
Clearly embarrassed, Pietro obliged, stepping further back into the room. Lucca finally took off his helm, not able to contain a satisfying smile, which completely evaporated once he met Lord Regent’s cold, unblinking eyes piercing him straight through. 
“Who entered this room except Lord Emilio and the chancellor since your duty began today?”
Lucca momentarily glanced at his father, who stood at the same exact position, seemingly abstracted from his surroundings, and pretended to have something stuck in his throat, just so he could concentrate and think what to say next. How he wished, he could say yes. How he wished, he could point the accusing finger at someone else, not at his own father. How he wished, the blasted chancellor had other visitors, other potential foes, who could have spilled the venomous potion into his cup. But the good enough lie or excuse never came, and somewhere at the back of Lucca’s mind doubt has already taken root…
“No, my lord. No one.” – forced out Lucca, maddening sadness engulfing him, the words echoing inside his head like an already pronounced death sentence. 
“No wonder, I’d say” - snarled Gennaro Bangone, the chief general of Avaritia, his bulldog head made even bigger by the wide grin, “Murdering chancellors is in their blood after all.” 
The invisible air bubble has popped at last. Lord Emilio finally took his eyes off the floor and clenched his fists. Lucca was more decisive and much less discreet about his intentions, as he clutched the hilt of his sword and launched forward ready to wipe this mocking smile of Gennaro’s face. This bravado was thankfully for both parties short-lived as commander Rizzo reacted immediately, grabbing Lucca by the throat and smashing him hard against the wall. 
“Get your shit together! NOW!” – in a manner allowing no objections barked Rizzo, his face redder than ever with frustration. 
The sound of shattered glass directed everyone's attention to the center of the room. With a disgusted and annoyed look on his face, Eusebio Succi was standing over the remains of the chancellor's wine goblet, repeatedly adjusting his monocle. 
“For a moment I hoped that enough violence was done within these walls for one day, but clearly not all of you share my sentiments. It’s evident to me that we will not be able to succeed in investigating this dreadful murder by muttering insults to one another and slashing with naked steel at any given opportunity. Commander Rizzo, take Lord Emilio into custody until … hmm… further notice. Sergeant Bangone, take a dozen guardsmen, fresh horses, carriages if you need them and head to Benevento’s mansion. Search for any stashes of Vulture’s kiss. Ser Lucca, return to your barracks at once, and try not to kill anyone along the way. This gathering is concluded, and for God’s grace, drag the body out of here!” 
With a quick final gaze at the corpse, Lord Regent left the chambers, and the flock of now his loyal councilmen trailed behind him. Commander Rizzo, evidently unsatisfied with his immediate duty, took Emilio by the elbow and frowning, mumbling something unpleasant, walked towards the staircase. 
Lucca, trying his hardest not to look anyone in the eye, upon exiting the Palace, turned right and by a perfectly familiar path headed back to his barracks. The urge to put a helmet back on, to shield himself from the world outside, from weird glances and whispering, from the suffocating realization that this whole day wasn’t just one of his wild dreams or his mother’s stories. The chancellor he was sworn to protect is dead, his father is facing execution in less than a fortnight. Something finally happened in the white, drowsy walls of the Palace, Lucca’s job finally got exciting … in the worst possible way. 
His walk of shame along the courtyard ended at the doorstep of his barrack when he decided it was time to blend in. If someone were to look at the training grounds during the day, all he would see is hundreds of utterly identical guards. Green cloaks, shining armor, and square helms – these phrases are enough to describe any soldier in chancellor’s division. It was kind of the point, to make the guards impassable, fanatically obedient and completely faceless. At times Lucca wondered how easy it must have been for his great ancestor to infiltrate the Palace with just a good enough replica of the uniform. Even from a couple steps away it was impossible to distinguish between your best friend and some other random soldier you never met before. A cruel jape of a thought crawled into Lucca’s mind that he wasn’t even sure that his sentry partner was the same one as always or was it someone else entirely? The assumption almost made him laugh, but he wasn’t capable of that right now. 
In the ocean of sand no one missed a grain, so Lucca calmly left his barrack through a back exit and reached the docks without anyone bothering him, exactly as he hoped. He spied a couple of fishermen already collecting their nets and fishing rods, ready to sail back to the city. Lucca’s heart started beating faster as he approached one of the boats; once he sets foot on board there will be no turning back. A rather old, tired-looking man agreed to transport Lucca to the city shore for fifty silvers, witch was a price fit for frigate cabin and most definitely not for a wooden skiff. But it mattered little for Lucca right now - generosity was a good way to ensure that the fishermen will keep his mouth firmly shut about an elite guard sneaking out on a day of chancellor’s murder.  
They landed just a couple yards away from Benevento’s mansion. Lucca tossed his fifty silvers and another ten “for wife and kids” to the old man and jogged towards the garden fence. He climbed down by the thick branches of ivy and ran to the wall as fast as he could before anyone could spot him from the window. Walking slowly along the stone perimeter he skirted the west side of the mansion and peeked out of the corner to clearly see the front gates. The sight of his sister startled him and Lucca couldn’t hold back the surprised gasp that nearly revealed him if not for the quite strong wind. 
“Maria is outside, which probably means Pietro and his raiding squad hasn’t arrived yet. The carriages must slow them down horrendously” – thought Lucca composing himself and retreating back along the wall, searching for a window to Lord Emilio’s study. 
Lucca blessed the excessive architectural features of his time at least a dozen times, while he was pulling himself up, clutching wide ledges or loose stones on the surface of the wall. Once he was inside the study, his melancholy and paranoia was already replaced by the childish excitement of breaking the rules. 
“Far left corner of the room, the letters … the proof …DON’T LET THEM TAKE IT!” – the last words of Lord Emilio were echoing inside Lucca’s head as he approached the large chest with a Benevento sigil engraved on top of it. By the time Lucca started flipping through letters, account books and discarded jewelry, his hands were shaking and his forehead sweating uncontrollably. It was hard to admit but he was genuinely afraid of what he might find, afraid of stumbling upon undeniable incriminating evidence against his father. Summoning all of his will, he opened the envelope with a broken seal depicting a boar. 
The contents of the letter from late chancellor Scordato made Lucca freeze in his place. His fears weren’t justified, Emilio was most definitely not guilty, only what he read was worse, far worse. 
“It is true, it has always been true. They are selling them, Emilio. All of them? Most of them? We are still in the dark. But Rizzo has proof, one of the miners escaped, caught a fever on the way back, hopefully he will hold on for a few more days. The commander promised to keep him safe. We need to move quickly, I can’t trust anyone else but you and Rizzo at this point. Come at once! Come at once!” 
Chancellor’s handwriting was jerky, he was writing in great haste. As Lucca was flipping through the lines, the odd recollection of the day came crashing down. The dread on Scordato’s face when he entered the chamber, the clearly unnerved state of commander Rizzo – it all started to make a little sense. Their plan has failed, has failed tremendously, one of the conspirators was dead, the other on the verge of dying, and this letter, if fallen into wrong hands could gravely endanger the third. 
Setting aside the shocking revelation, Lucca began to examine other letters, when he heard heavy footsteps down the hallway. The rattling of the armor that followed left no doubt that his fellow guardsmen were directly on their way to Lord Emilio’s study. Without second thought, Lucca grabbed the pile of unread letters, stashed them behind the sword belt and jumped out of the window. The fall from the second floor wasn’t that bad, although, Lucca figured that his shoulder and back would ache for a couple more days, but it mattered little and less. If he is caught, the damage will be incomparable. 
Fortunately for him, no guard thought it beneficial to look out of the window, they must have been exceptionally busy with the chest, searching for something that was snatched away from them at the very last second. The journey back to the barracks almost mirrored the previous one. Another sixty or so silvers wasted on the merciless greed of the fishermen. Mid-way across the narrow canal, Lucca tore the stack of letters in half, and carefully tied his small dagger to them. Almost useless in his duty, most of the time kept hidden, but still a part of his sacred uniform. He will have to explain its loss later somehow, for now though the disappearance of the evidence was much more important. For him. For his family. For his country.