An Audience With The Duke

Fanghill Township 
 * '' About halfway up the gray-green heights of Fanghill Peak, the rough dirt

road enters a town that feels dark and oppressed, as if the very stones that form the buildings are shrinking away from the forbidding castle that perches atop the peak.

The town of Fanghill was settled nearly seven hundred years ago by Avram Zahir, the father of Gavor Zahir and grandfather of Goram Zahir. Avram Zahir oversaw the construction of the bleak fortress known as Fanghill Keep, and it was that castle that Goram Zahir inherited when he rose to prominence in service of Emperor Talus Kahar I.

But Fanghill fell into ignominy and shame throughout the realm when Goram Zahir betrayed the Emperor and hundreds of Bladesmen to a Wildling ambush along the Fastheld River.

These days, the township and keep are ruled by a dour and merciless man known as Zolor Zahir, who is suspected to have links to gambling and other vices in the Shadow District. It is also well known that his only legitimate son and heir, Zolde Zahir, died after being trampled by a royal Mikin's horse while in service to the Emperor's Blades.

The main dirt road continues to climb the peak toward Fanghill Keep, while other roads twist off toward the farming terraces and mines that help provide resources for the township.

A cold, dark, quiet night. No reason to stir the silence about bleak Fanghill as it cowers away from the keep above. No reason for any to be about on this dreary evening.

Yet, coming up the road from the flat marshes, a single flickering light: the lantern of a carriage, driver hunched forward over the reins as he guides his horses through the darkness. Next to him, a tall figure in obsidian ringmail, cloak obscuring the figure's features; riding along the running board, another figure. Inside the carriage, four more -- seven people disturbing the eerie silence of the marsh, guided by a single despondent carriage driver. The mark of a wagon with precious cargo ...

The deafening silence of the evening is disturbed by the occasional chirping of the insect, slight rustle of leaf on leaf. The moon shines down on Fanghill like a lonely beacon in the sky.

And then, the clatter of boots on wooden slats on the roof of the Goat's Horn Tavern. The moon's glow reveals the sillhouette of a stooped-over figure, standing on the tavern roof.

Suddenly, the silence of the night is shattered by the unearthly cackle of the figure, who leaps from the roof and runs toward the carriage.

"Yes, I believe he is cause for concern," one of the figures in the carriage tells another, tone measured, calm. "But he's just a dockworker. Keep an eye on --"

"Lord Darkwater!" There's the unmistakable hiss of steel on leather as the figure riding alongside the driver -- her strident call, urgent but composed, betraying her as a woman -- draws her blade, a sabre. "We've got company!"

"This isn't good," Thayndor notes. "Driver! Increase your speed!" He barks. "Make for Hedgehem!"

The driver needs no encouragement. With the crack of reins on horseflesh, he urges the horses into a gallop -- not, judging by the terrified whinnies of the white-eyed river trotters pulling the carriage that pierce the night shortly after their attacker's cackling, that they needed encouragement either.

The figure unsheathes an obsidian blade that glints in the moonlight and continues to pursue the carriage, cackling madly. However, the creature, beastly as it may be, has only the speed of a man, and the horses make good distance between it and themselves. The caped creature waves the blade in the air, howling after the carriage, "Yes, run! Run from the Duke of the Night, for you are unwelcome in his kingdom!"

Thayndor Zahir smirks. "Duke of the Night," repeats the figure in the carriage known as Thayndor Zahir, Lord of Darkwater, as his female guard riding with the driver sheathes her sabre and the horses continue pounding turf hard for Hedgehem. "Interesting. Very well, Your Grace." The Zahir chuckles, looking to his man sitting opposite him in the carriage. "I believe we'll have to pay the Duke of Night another visit soon, hm?"

The man opposite gives Thayndor a curious look. "Lord Darkwater," he retorts, "sometimes I'm sure you're nuts."

"I know," Thayndor replies, and falls silent.

The carriage disappears, rattling, into the night.