A Sovereign's Scorn by Logan Luke W

Author:Logan, Luke W.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Luke W. Logan
Published: 2022-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Choices

Typhoeus and Arilla left the training grounds without incident, but as they passed through the Guild’s main hall, they were approached by a familiar-looking clerk who had clearly been waiting for them. Typhoeus recognised him as the same Guild official from two nights before who had helped defuse his standoff with Medraut’s Rovers.

“Excuse me, may I have a moment of your time?” the clerk said, his firm tone and austere expression indicating that it was anything but a request. Still, Typhoeus was not easily cowed and refused to accept such a politely worded instruction.

“I’d really rather not. We’re tired and have plans for the evening,” Typhoeus replied, uneasy at the prospect of getting any more involved with the Guild than he already was.

“I’m afraid that I really must insist,” the clerk said. “Given your recent altercation, and a minor discrepancy with a bounty payment, I would very much like to talk to both of you in order to clear some things up amicably.”

Typhoeus heard Arilla audibly gulp, and he quickly made the decision to go along with the clerk rather than pressing his luck any further. Nodding his assent, they were quietly escorted through a side door from the main hall and down a series of corridors until they found themselves in a small, private meeting room.

Like everything in the Guild, the furniture dripped with understated affluence; at first glance everything appeared to be relatively mundane, but on closer inspection the oil lamps were in fact lit by magestones, the furniture was mana-infused hardwood, and the upholstery was a mixture of rich cottons and finely stitched exotic leathers. Each item in the room likely cost more than what the average labourer made in a season, and needless to say, Typhoeus’s draconic instincts were piqued. The incessant need to simply possess everything in the room tugged at his consciousness, a primal drive that his human brain was fortunately able to sidestep.

“Please sit,” the man said, gesturing to them both as he took a seat in what looked like a very comfortable high-backed chair situated around the low table in the centre of the room.

A map of the local area was carved into the surface of the table’s cherry-coloured wood, with Rhelea, the Old Roads, and many other local landmarks highlighted with dark red or blue accents. All in all, it was a very impressive bit of carving and just looking at it was enough to fill Typhoeus with a materialistic lust that was almost sexual in nature—another layer of confusing stimuli that he really didn’t need right now.

Turning his attention to the much-more-mundane human, Typhoeus was forced to acknowledge that the clerk was immaculately groomed. He looked to be in his late 50s, with more grey in his hair than brown, which had done a remarkably good job of staying thick and lustrous despite his apparent age. The human maintained an air of polite professionalism that would be admirable if every one of Typhoeus’s newly burgeoning social instincts weren’t screaming at him that this man was preparing to hit him with bad news.

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