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The Bell Tolls for Me 56: Velvet Glove, Iron Hand
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 07:11:43 +0000 UTCCesare cut his way through the royal palace with as much skill as he’d ever mustered. The combatants that he was facing weren’t skilled. They were clearly just bodies meant to fill the armor of the holy paladins to accommodate this deceit. With his best men at his side, he broke out of the front gate and stormed for the city, where the battle already raged.
He could tell that the opponent had efficiently divided their forces. Part of it was Cesare’s own fault. He had commanded his men take positions around the city and watch for word from the royal palace in case they were detained. It was intended to display that the city was their hostage, but it had backfired tremendously, allowing efficient elimination of their men.
“Come on! Follow,” Cesare commanded, then led the rush back.
He and his three men made for the walled estate that the majority of their forces had been stationed. The rest of his commanders would likely be detained, but he alone might be able to turn the tide.
The moment that he passed through the gates of their base—which had already been busted open—he saw a gruesome sight. He recognized many of his mercenaries bleeding out in the beautiful garden, the serene environment standing in harsh contrast to the misery they endured. He looked back to his men.
“Stay with me. Don’t wander, no matter who you see.” With that command, Cesare pressed onward in the hopes of finding a surviving contingent of men.
As Cesare patrolled the estate, he found it to be eerily silent. His men were just as unnerved as he was. When they finally entered the grand hall one of his men jerked back violently and fell to the ground, a knife protruding from his forehead. Cesare cast a spell on the dagger to track the attacker, revealing a lightshow that led right back to their assailant. The Duke of the Isles walked out from behind a pillar, a monkey on his shoulder.
“I was hoping you might’ve made it here. I do prefer to handle these matters personally. As much as I respect the paladins, there’s nothing quite so assuring as getting a job done by yourself.” Valerio looked unarmed, but Cesare knew better. The man was outfitted for war, wearing light-fitted armor and a coat that doubtlessly hid countless daggers. He hadn’t seen Valerio fight personally, but many people had told him tales.
“Where are your men?” Cesare asked.
“My one accomplice is on my shoulder,” Valerio said, pricking his finger with a suddenly-produced dagger. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Last time, it was when… oh, yes. It was the time I wiped out your last mercenary band. I might be rusty. You might even win this time, Cesare,” he said facetiously.
Cesare decided to focus on nothing else beside the opponent in front of him. He held up his blade and assumed a combat stance. Valerio watched him with a certain degree of wariness. The two circled each other like vicious predators about to begin a territorial dispute that could well end their life. Then, the battle erupted.
Cesare began with a probing attack, but Valerio threw a dagger and then closed the distance with wind bursting all around him. It was a form of magic that Cesare had never seen before. He responded with magic of his own, casting his hand out to conjure a burst of flame. As the spell took shape in his hand, he saw the monkey’s eyes glow purple, and his magic was disturbed before shattering entirely.
That money… countered my spell? Cesare couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but he didn’t have time to debate it over much before the duke was upon him in full force.
Daggers clashed with swords in a very deadly engagement. Valerio’s movements were incredibly powerful and quick, but Cesare was capable of calling upon magic to even the tide. While the monkey could interfere with his more complex spells, it was clear that simple cantrips were easily used without its interference. Fire, ice, and lightning lashed out like deadly whips, but Valerio’s sheer dexterity was uncanny, almost inhuman.
The elements of nature clashed against one another in their deadly, resentful clash. Valerio’s strange magic seemed to emerge in response to how his body moved, empowering his attacks to deliver terrifyingly powerful blows. Cesare’s magic was more traditional and secular, relying upon magic and suitable conduits in the form of spells. His sword definitely had the advantage against the daggers in terms of reach, but Valerio threw his weapons recklessly, forcing Cesare into a desperate defense.
Cesare thought his men might be able to help him turn the tides of this duel, but they were soon attacked by the others that had stormed this estate. An old man bearing a spear attacked one, and the spearman was adept enough to consume his attention. A holy paladin engaged another.
Cesare waited for an opportunity as the battle turned into one of endurance. He was confident in his stamina, and the bizarre magic Valerio was displaying certainly couldn’t be easy on his health. But as the battle went on and on, his opponent’s attacks never seemed to wane in intensity. Rather, it seemed as though Cesare was fighting against the man at his freshest every second. As his own breath grew heavy and labored, his opponent showed no such signs of wear.
When the fatigue finally gotten took its toll on Cesare, he made a mistake. Valerio ruthlessly seized upon that opportunity to drive a dagger into his shoulder. Cesare groaned, but kept his composure. Not long after that, more mistakes followed. Before long, Valerio slammed his steel-toed boots into the side of Cesare’s knee, and he was cast off his feet and fell to the ground. As he was disarmed, he attempted to cast a powerful spell he employed often, but that damnable monkey only callously neutralized it.
Valerio looked down upon Cesare, his eyes cold as the grave. Cesare looked for anything in them as the pain wracked his body—any opportunity. He saw none.
The monkey clambered down from Valerio’s shoulder until it came to look upon Cesare. His arms were too heavy to move. The monkey stared into his eyes. They seemed… wrong.
“The victor takes his spoils,” the monkey said, holding his hand up. Valerio lowered a dagger into it.
***
“Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?!” one of the dukes shouted, indignant after being refused exit.
Isabella sat at the head of the table calmly. “As Princess Regent, I’m insisting that you remain within this room for your own safety. The holy paladins are presently conducting mass arrests on the mercenary band that unlawfully entered the city and have proceeded to hold it captive.”
People stirred uneasily, but Isabella’s calm made that attitude prevail.
“The mercenaries that you yourself recognized?” Prince Dalton pointed out.
“As regent, it was my responsibility to look after the people of the city. I would not have this city sacked in what would have amounted to a foolish resistance doomed to failure. But now I’ve made proper preparations. Duke Valerio is conducting the arrests personally,” Isabella explained.
“Likely story,” Dalton said. “More like you’re betraying him, as he’s become too difficult to control.”
“I care not if you believe me.” Isabella looked at the prince. “Some creatures grow bold when they believe themselves too clever to be stopped. But when one discovers rats in the granary… it would be foolish to burn the building.” Isabella looked between the council. “You must find the rats, one by one… and ensure they never eat again. By any means necessary,” she finished quietly, but all were hanging on her words.
Quiet settled over the hall, and Isabella let it persist a while. Eventually… the doors to the hall opened up, and Valerio strode in. He kneeled at the foot of the table where Cesare had once sat.
“Your Highness. Your command has been carried out to the letter.” Valerio dipped his head deferentially.
Through the letter. That meant…
“Veronica,” Isabella said, looking after the side. “I would like you to spread word of a gathering of the commonfolk tomorrow at the Old King’s Gallows.” Isabella faced back to her councilors. “Lords and ladies of the court… I’m afraid this regency council cannot convene tomorrow. As regent, I must exercise my authority to deliver the justice of the crown for this matter of utmost importance.”
***
Isabella felt quite ridiculous wearing a dress that was made purely of the most ostentatious burgundy velvet that they had been able to acquire on such short notice. The only thing that gave her some solace was the fact that Valerio was probably experiencing similar annoyances garbed fully in gray and decorated with iron. He sat across from her on the palanquin that was carrying them to the Old King’s Gallows.
Isabella had been made amply aware of the influence that the common folk had on the kingdom through Alistair of Veymont’s heresy. Just as important as securing the interests of the nobility was securing the adoration of the people. And thus, she and Valerio had orchestrated a stage play of sorts, though the consequences of it were nonetheless very real.
Eventually, the palanquin they sat in stopped moving, and they were set on the ground. The doors were opened for them, and light flooded in. She steeled herself for her performance as Valerio stepped out first, revealing himself to the public. Isabella followed shortly after. They were in the execution grounds of the old king. No one knew the old king’s name, but these gallows had been built centuries ago and had always been used as the site of particularly notable executions.
Isabella had learned that it was much easier to facilitate the spread of a reputation that had caught on naturally than to Invent a new one altogether. People had taken to calling Isabella the Velvet Princess, and Valerio the Iron Duke. Today, they intended to use that reputation to their advantage in cementing their rule as one of strength, authority, and equity.
Isabella went to take her place in the throne that had been provided while Valerio came to stand over the execution block She wouldn’t need to speak just yet. Instead, a royal crier explained why the people were gathered here today.
“Cesare, the bastard son of Archbishop Pius, has proven twice over that he is from a cursed lineage,” the crier declared, his voice loud and projecting forcefully. “But by the order of the Princess Regent, and the actions of her steadfast fiancé, His Grace Duke Valerio, the reign of tyranny spurred by the Gods’ Bastards has been brought to an end!”
Already, some people were cheering enthusiastically. His mercenaries, while not as brutal as the ones that had come to the city during the time of King Claude, had been a persistent and aggravating presence that took freely by threat of violence. There was a great deal of contempt for them in the city.
“To bring justice for the people aggrieved, the execution of Cesare, leader of the Gods’ Bastards, will commence.” The royal crier stepped off to the side as several holy paladins escorted Cesare to the executioner’s block. He had a bag over his head.
Valerio looked down upon Cesare. His eyes were utterly without remorse. “Do you have anything to say before the gods and men in defense of your actions, Cesare, son of the traitor Archbishop Pius?”
Jeers erupted from the crowd at the mere thought that he would be allowed to speak. Perhaps they had seen one too many months of inaction from King Claude, and feared that the same fate would befall this man.
Valerio jerked off the bag covering Cesare’s head. Gasps erupted from the crowd. Isabella hadn’t seen it, but she’d heard that his eyes had been removed from his body. His hair had been shaven off as well—all the features that gave him the angelic, sympathetic atmosphere of Pius. It was brutal work, but for a man fated to die… perhaps that excused it.
“I…” Cesare began. “…should have killed every last one of you!” he shouted in raw rage, then tried to run blindly. Valerio seized his neck and forced him down, dragging him to the executioner’s block with ease. Once he was there, Valerio slammed his foot down upon his back to keep him still, drew a sword of cast iron, and sliced through Cesare’s neck in a fluid, graceful motion.
The square was made silent and still by that display of brutality. But after the display of power from the Iron Fist came the soft soothing of the Velvet Glove.
Isabella rose from her seat and approached the edge of the gallows’ stage. As she did, the many holy paladins kneeled, shouting enthusiastic greetings to ‘Princess Regent Isabella.’ Unnecessary procedure, but her name needed to be known. Valerio retrieved a velvet cloak the same color as that of her dress and draped it over the corpse before kneeling to her passage. It was a sign of respect intended for kings and queens alone, but as regent, it was excusable… if only just.
Isabella looked out across the crowd, which watched her silently, almost reverently, after her entrance. “Justice is not punishment alone,” she declared loudly. “You have been brought here to witness judgment upon a sinner… and receive redress for your indignities. As Princess Regent, I will hear the injustices these mercenaries brought upon you… and I shall make you whole.
“Spread word, dear people of Dovhain. Today, the royal palace will be open to any and all petitioners who seek justice for tragedies inflicted upon them,” Isabella declared. “For the merchants that have been stolen from, for the landowners who were ousted, for the women that were raped, for all of the innocents of this great city… I will offer you remedy!” Isabella declared.
As Isabella looked out across the reverent crowd, she realized that Valerio had been entirely right. In one fell swoop, they had managed to reassert the authority of the crown and earn the adoration of the people. He had given her wise counsel.
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Comments
elijah pickett
Heck yeah! Oh man I wanted that jag dead. Wonderful job!
WarStrider72
So….Did the monkey eat Cesare’s eyeballs?
