Chapter 277: An Overdue Conversation
In Lothian City, the week-long Holy Festival of Light had overtaken the city. At the center of the city, the fortified Holy Temple gleamed like a golden beacon with strings of lanterns and large bonfires lit along every tower and rampart, the temple turned itself into the ’Eternal Sun’ at the center of Lothian City.
The streets were filled with revelers, whether they were truly pious or indulging in more worldly pleasures, the entire city came alive to celebrate the Holy Lord of Light who watched over the people and protected them from the scourge of demons who infested the land.
Far removed from the revels, Marquis Bors Lothian looked down on the festivities from the window of his office, high in Lothian Manor. This year, in order to help bolster Owain’s presence among the common people, he’d chosen to step back from many of the festivities.
His eldest son’s relatively successful raid deep into the wilderness created an opportunity to celebrate the power of humanity and the Holy Lord of Light that Bors would be foolish not to capitalize on, no matter what he thought in private.
Behind closed doors, however, he wondered if the price of Owain’s victory had been worth it. A single village destroyed for the price of half his men. Worse, it had only been possible because of the assistance of an Inquisitor and several Templars along with members of the Temple Guard.
The Church, it seemed, was no longer content to allow the Lothians to fight for their own destiny on the frontier. The coming Holy War might bring them enough knights and noblemen from across the sea to secure their future as a duchy on the backs of the aristocracy, but if it took the full might of the church to break into the western lands then Lothian March’s days of independence would quickly come to an end.
A soft knock at his door interrupted Bors’ brooding thoughts. At this hour, with the city caught up in revelry, few would dare disturb him, especially with Owain handling so many of his formal obligations this year. Fewer still would be admitted by his guards without alerting him to the identity of his guest and seeking his approval to admit them.
When he saw who stood in his doorway, however, Bors understood why the guards had let him pass without challenge. The white and gold vestments of a high-ranking priest carried their own authority, even if the man wearing them was his son.
"Loman," Bors said, turning away from the window to look at his younger son. "I’m surprised you could spare a moment during the festivities to see an old man like me. Has something come up? You know I dislike it when the Church chooses to abuse you as a go-between to negotiate with me," he said with a dark scowl forming between his greying brows.
"This is personal, Father," Loman said, his steps faltering slightly under his father’s gaze as he came to stand before the imposing desk carved from the trunk of one of the demon’s Ancient Oak trees. "I came to talk to you about Owain. May I sit?" he asked, gesturing to one of the large, high-backed chairs in his father’s stately office.
The stuffed heads of demons, captured weapons, and fading banners that covered the walls were all carefully placed to overawe visitors and impress upon them the might of the Lothian line in battling against the demon menace. As a child, Loman had played in this office and the snarling heads or hollow-eyed skulls held no fear for him.
Now, however, as he stood before his father, he found himself strangely distant from all of it. The eyes of the stuffed heads seemed to follow him and the open mouths of the mounted skulls silently cried out ’outsider.’