Chapter 1923: Tybal’s Gambit (Part One)

The cold had gotten into Tybal’s bones somewhere on the ride out from Lothian Manor, and the sudden blast of warmth as he stepped into the Imperial Box did little to chase it away. Peigi pleaded with him to ride in the warm carriage with her, but tonight, Tybal stubbornly refused.

Reynold had ridden the whole way atop Star Chaser, and tonight, Tybal rode at his son’s side. It might be the last time, and even if neither of them spoke during the ride, simply being present and riding to face their fates together was enough for Tybal.

Tonight, Tybal had dressed simply, favoring an understated doublet the color of dry straw with a fur-trimmed cloak in a soft shade of brown. The glory tonight belonged to Reynold, and just as he’d refused to ride in a carriage with Peigi, he refused to outshine his son.

Peigi didn’t understand why her normally defiant husband seemed so subdued, but then, she still held hope for tonight’s outcome. Tybal had his own hopes, but they’d diverged sharply from his wife’s in the days since this terrible bargain was struck.

Reynold had all but disappeared the past few days while he trained under the guidance of General Thane and Dame Sybyll. In that time, the few agents Tybal still had in Lothian had been able to locate and bring him close enough to the grounds where Dirar prepared his champions for the current lord of Aleese to glimpse his son’s opponent.

Tybal had seen Taghai, towering above even the other members of his own clan, and he knew full well what his son’s odds of victory were.

Now, as he walked with Peigi on his arm, he did his best to project calm confidence when the eyes of the room fell on him. It would not do to crack and wobble here. The looks he received from some in the room, as if they were watching a dead man ascending the gallows, tested his resolve. As the room went quiet, he returned the looks with a bitter smile. They didn’t know how right they were.

Entering behind him, Reynold and the feathered sorcerer made quite the sight, and most eyes in the room quickly moved on from Tybal to gaze upon the champions who would represent Aleese tonight.

Reynold looked like a champion. He’d never owned a truly impressive set of armor meant for tournaments the way his younger brother did, but in a way, that only made the armor he wore more impressive.

During the day, while Reynold slept and recovered from the previous night’s grueling training, the squires of Aleese had toiled over his armor like madmen, polishing every plate, strap, and rivet until they gleamed in the warm light of the Imperial Box. Dents had been hammered smooth by one of Lothian’s finest armorers, and Reynold’s tabard had been freshly laundered.

The sage green tabard, meant to blend with the tall grasses of the Southern Steppe, bore Reynold’s personal sigil of a Meadow Lark carrying a lance. It was a device that those who had never faced him found easy to mock, but Tybal knew his son better than that.

The Meadow Lark defended its territory aggressively, and it was known to be both tenacious and adaptable. It might look humble next to the boar on Rain’s crest, or the stags and wolves favored by other lords, but Reynold had never needed to follow others to display his strengths.

Next to him, Commander Aspakos was anything but heroic. The dark, feathered sorcerer with a shattered beak mended by veins of gold moved like an ominous storm cloud, all but dimming the room around him as he moved. The robes he wore were covered in angular, hooked symbols that Tybal didn’t understand and hadn’t bothered to ask about.

Just looking at the avian sorcerer made Tybal uncomfortable, and he quickly turned away, patting Peigi’s hand reassuringly as he led the way to the center of the room where the empresses waited along with the Horse Lord, Dirar.

"Lord Tybal," Dirar said in a carefully neutral tone as he watched the aging lord of Aleese approach.

"Highest One," Tybal said, surprising many around him by using the same form of address for the lord of the Southern Steppe that the Eldritch used to address a High Lord. "Your Dominion, Your Eternity," he said politely to the pair of empresses.

Before either woman could respond to his presence, Tybal patted Peigi’s hand on his arm one last time before stepping away from her, dropping to one knee before the empresses and pressing the tips of his fingers over his heart in a distinctly Eldritch gesture of respect.

"Empress Ashlynn, Empress Nyrielle," Tybal said. "I’ve come tonight to beg for your indulgence. This wager.... I truly can’t accept it," he said, clenching his free hand into a fist as he spoke.

"Backing out now?" someone whispered, their voice sounding surprisingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. "Does he think anyone will let him?"

"Coward," someone else spat, turning away from the sight unfolding at the center of the room as if they couldn’t bear to watch the lord of Aleese sniveling and begging for his life.

Tybal ignored the whispers. They had nothing to do with him. All that mattered were the words he’d come here to say tonight.

"The Southern Steppe wants my head, Your Dominion," Tybal said, addressing himself to the empress responsible for tonight’s arrangements. "They can have it. On two conditions."

"Tybal, no!" Peigi cried, dropping to her knees next to her husband. She grabbed his arm, intending to pull him to his feet, but he remained stubbornly rooted to the ground.

"Speak," Nyrielle said, gazing down at the man kneeling at her feet. "I would hear these conditions of yours. What is it you would purchase with what remains of your life?"

"I only want two things," Tybal said, taking a deep breath and clinging tightly to the courage and conviction of a man who was soon to die. "Allow Reynold to inherit Aleese, and do not force him to serve the man who has come to claim his father’s life. Do this for me, and I will gladly give up my life..."