Heir to the Empire

24. The Pommel, Quillion & Blade - Ethelston

Bizarre memories of running around the dungeons as a young child came flooding back to Ethelston as he walked into the dark and dingy atmosphere. He had always had a morbid curiosity about the dungeon and was often sneaking in there at a young age watching in awe the various punishments that were being inflicted on the Ravenscourt criminal underbelly.

Now walking through it, the immediate barrage his nostrils received from the smell of death was something he hadn't quite prepared himself for. He was no stranger to that smell, but it was so rancid and ripe that it seemed unnatural.

As rats scurried across the floor searching for their next meal, Ethelston knew this was another task in his ever-increasing list for things to deal with as the Duke of Ravenscourt.

His uncle had been busy here, far too busy. How far had he fallen into depravity?

The state of the dungeon was not the conversation for today, the conversation was about his ties to the Black Knife Syndicate, the most immediate threat to the security and stability of Ravenscourt. Perhaps if Millendahl didn't give Ethelston the answers he wanted, then Ethelston would have him moved here, to the lower parts of the dungeon.

It was the only way to get to the tower in which Millendahl was being held captive. Even though there was so much animosity between them, Ethelston felt compelled to treat him with the respect his position in society dictated. As a result of this, Millendahl had been moved to the top of the tower of the claw which was luxurious compared to the rest of the dungeon.

Walking up the winding staircase, the clapping of Ethelston's shoes on stone echoed throughout breaking his concentration on the number of questions that were running through his mind.

He had rehearsed this moment several times in his head, but knowing that the moment he saw his uncle, the emotion would take over and the questions would be quickly forgotten. He just needed to make sure that his rage was subdued.

Two guards stood outside the door to Millendahl's cell, immediately seeing Ethelston they stood to attention.

"Foulk isn't it?" Ethelston asked. He had been practising the guard's names and faces at every given opportunity.

Despite not being able to clearly see his face behind his helmet, the soldier named Foulk smiled. "Aye it is milord, and this is Garalty"

"Garalty, I've not had the pleasure of meeting you before, well met. How fares the prisoner." Ethelston asked.

"He's being well-fed as you've ordered milord. He has not been allowed to exit the room, despite his protests. He is still in good health." Foulk reported.

"Good, please let me inside and do not enter until I call," Ethelston responded with a tinge of harshness. He couldn't deny that he was extremely agitated by the expected encounter.

The door creaked open revealing a rather spacious but simple room at top of the tower. With only a table, bed and chair for furnishings, Ethelston did not envy the dwellings that had been set up for his uncle. With a plate of fruit, parchment and pen on the table, it was still far better than what most prisoners could ask for.

Millendahl stood upright at the small slit of a window, watching the ongoing's of the city. He didn't move as the door swung open as Ethelston entered. When the soldiers slammed it shut again, he still remained transfixed on the city below.

"I was wondering when you would eventually come and visit me," Millendahl commented spitefully. His deep voice was filled with resentment and disenchantment refusing to turn his gaze towards his nephew.

In Ethelston's mind, he could envisage himself launching across the room and smashing his uncle's head repeatedly against the wall, but he knew he had to remain calm. There was more at stake than his desire for revenge.