Chapter Three
Ghreid
Ghreid wandered the halls of his new estate, taking in bare walls and the scent of mildew. He wasn’t very surprised they’d done nothing to prepare for him, but the loneliness was overwhelming.
The retinue that had come with him brought furniture, clothing, money, and a slew of help that would aid him in making the place serviceable—the bare necessities. More would come as he ordered it, but for the time being, he was stationing himself there.
The kitchens were empty, the scent of dankness ripe. The basement was damp, mildew seeping in, and the magic in the desalination well had gone foul—the gold in it was near black from expiration. He supposed that would be his first duty that evening as the only dragon in his retinue.
As he walked the estate, climbing stone stairs, his footsteps echoed back at him from bare walls.
Not a drop of gold ran through them, and he’d spend forever with his own magic and the magic of the court’s spellcasters making the place as dragon-centered as possible.
His mind reeled with the costs, but the profits would outweigh it, for certain.
Rath may not have been the genius with money that Ghreid was, but he could sniff out gold a mile away.
The estate had been built into an embankment, the first story the majority of the living estate, as the upper served as libraries, offices, and more.
The underground feeling of the place made it suitable for him, especially as buildings near the shoreline often were the victims of tidal storms. Though, everything had held up for far longer than he’d imagined.
Parts of the keep were well over three-hundred years old, and the wood hadn’t even rotted.
When he got to the end of the upper offices, an open staircase led into a transition of stone with two gated metal doors open wide, and it led to an observatory with windows rising as high as his dragon with a spiral staircase leading to a mezzanine and lighthouse beacon. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
An attendant made notes as he followed, scratching things down as he tapped walls and made commentary.
The stairs creaked, and he made note to have them reforged of a stronger metal.
Still, he climbed them and made his way to the central light column, the crystal within barely aflicker with magical glow. “Add that to my list.”
Still, he slid his hands into the cage and traced his fingers over the crystal. It still had the capacity to hold magic. With a careful sigh, he infused his magic into the core of it, letting it flow and bring about the beacon of light to signal to ships.
The rotating light gave Ghreid a pulsing view of the world, his own light blinding before swinging away, letting him see the dimming expanse of the ocean.
Instead of the endless sea into the horizon, the sight that greeted him was abysmal.
The surf foamed and churned with broken cargo, floating detritus, human waste, and in the distance, beyond the markers of territory, lay a graveyard of sunken ships, masts protruding from shallower waters, the odd hull bobbing with the waves.
Amid a few rocky outcroppings near a sea stack lay the saddest sight of all: white flags fluttering in the wind, all made of clothing and pieces of sail, green with moss and algae from the long years of disuse. “What are those?”
Ghreid placed his fingers against the glass and fumbled to open a window, letting the harsh breeze whip through—cold and unforgiving.
“I’ll ask, Your Highness.” The snippy tones of his assistant, a young human male by the name of Rydel, made another note before descending the steps with anything but delight in his pace.
Ghreid inhaled the scent on the breeze and nearly retched.
His first order of business would be to hire a taskforce to clean up the shores and install proper waste disposal mechanisms. Draenvir would be a good person to ask, so when Rydel returned, he asked him to draft a letter to Draenvir to send one of his infrastructure artificers and developmental architects to see to the process.
A simpering man with a weak chin cowered halfway up the steps, refusing to climb higher as Ghreid turned and stared down. “Should I come down to you, sir?”
The balding, weak-chinned male nodded as he retreated, and Ghreid hopped from the mezzanine, grasping onto one of the support joists before sliding his way down a pillar with as much grace as any dragon could manage. The display of prowess often made humans uneasy. “Human. What is this?”
Ghreid turned to face the wall of windows, looking at the mess on the horizon that wasn’t as visible from the observatory as it was the upper mezzanine.
“W-well you see. Sirs. The—the p-port is a cove, you s-see. It creates a doldrums there, and items often drift into the inlet.” The nervous man fiddled with his fingers and averted his gaze.
“I understand the basic mechanics, but how has nothing been in place for long enough for it to get to this point?” Ghreid gestured out to sea, and the human didn’t bother looking.
“C-city finances have been meager, you s-see.”
“Docking fees in the hundreds of gold. Forced conscription of soldiers that I am certain came with a bonus to the conscriptor.” Ghreid tallied things off on his fingers. “Stolen cargo of abandoned ships… There should be plenty in the coffers.”
The nervous man cleared his throat. “Well, you s-see… Nobility has certain—”
“Ohhh, I see.” Ghreid put an endearing smile on and strode toward a windowsill to lean against a joist. “We’re on the take?”
“I-I wouldn’t say take. We just have certain rights to—”
“Well, we have me to cut into the money now. Do we raise docking fees again?” Ghreid waited.
“They’re as high as most are willing to afford now. But I do say we are pulling in a tidy sum.”
“Your name and estate?” Ghreid turned his back on the man to stare out at the waste. Something about the doldrums and stacks where the resting ships lay made Ghreid uneasy, drew his eye. Perhaps his dragon knew of treasure. Perhaps something needed his attention.
“Bishop Camus of House Vulmar. The church technically still has dominion over the port town. It is the divine will of Baltheir that we prosper, the nobles.” The chinless fuckwit cleared his throat.
Ghreid took a deep breath against his will, as if something in him longed for a scent muddled amid all the detritus. Ghreid snapped his fingers. “Men.”
Armed guards stepped in and grabbed Bishop Camus by his shoulders.
Ghreid, turning back to him once more, strode forward, folding his arms behind his back.
He had a lot to say in short order, but most of it would fall on deaf ears.
“I will lay waste to your estate. I will burn everything you own to the ground and let it fall to rot as you’ve let Port Monsmount.
I will seize every coin you hold and dole out to your heirs enough to start a respectable life elsewhere.
I will sponsor your daughters, and your wife, well… ”
Bishop Camus choked on his own breath, a squeak of weak protest dying in his throat.
“Your god has no place in Port Monsmount anymore. Your god has abandoned you.” Ghreid moved in closer and sniffed. “And you stink of bodily rot. Your own loins have betrayed you. I’d offer use of my healer, but I’d much rather you die of the dripping-dick plague.”
The male’s face went pale.
“Raid his estate. Immediately. Also raid the other bishops’ estates as well as put guards on the clergy until such time as I can ascertain the extent to which their theocracy has raped this territory.” Ghreid sighed heavily. “I need more dragons.”
“That can be arranged, sir.” Rydel made a note on his paperwork. “How many?”
“Two. For now.” Ghreid stared out at the filthy surf and shook his head. “Organize a recruitment event. Contact the local offal management groups and have them begin making a plan for cleanup of the beaches.”
“Noted, sir.” Rydel made another note.
Ghreid stared at his hand as he picked at a fingernail, the gold in the darkness of it mesmerizing to most but commonplace to him. “And, Rydel?”
“Hmm?”
“Clear a spot in my schedule tomorrow so I can investigate the wreckages.” Ghreid couldn’t shake the feeling as he stared at the empty ships that something stared back at him.
A timid voice nearby cleared. “S-sir. I—those are international waters. We must proceed with caution. Any attempt to seize those assets may be met with controversy.”
One of the local officials, a lawman of some variety, folded his hands.
“Then obtain clearance so that I may do so.” Ghreid sighed.
“You can legally fly over, but touching the wreckage is where the unsavory part starts.” The lawman stood still and Ghreid nodded.
“I’ll fly tomorrow, land when I get permission. I’m investigating only.” Ghreid stalked off, face twisted. “And arrange for something for me to eat.”
He climbed the stairs once more, the metal beneath his feet humming with want of crumbling. It would betray him one day, but that day was not soon to come. He wanted to stare at the wreckage and listen to his inner beast complain about wanting to investigate.
“There will be more treasure other places.” Ghreid found an ideal perch on a rail, and against better judgment, let his tail free with a slight adjustment to his belt. The counterbalance and wrapping it around a railing helped.
But still, the growling in his head assured him there would be no better treasure than what awaited him.