Chapter 149 - Puzzling conundrums
Beldon Tyndall was a man who often found himself being right. Most of the time, that was something he took great pleasure in. But there were times when he would have preferred the alternative.
He surveyed the scene before him with a serious expression. The ballroom, which had been a hub of conversations and merrymaking just an hour ago, was now filled with wounded nobles and other influential guests. Some appeared only slightly disheveled, while others lay on the floor with blood-soaked clothing as their companions tended to them.
The air was heavy with the scent of burnt wood and singed fabric, mingling with the faint aroma of spilled wine and shattered pride. The walls, adorned with beautiful frescoes and delicate reliefs commissioned by dukes from past generations, bore the marks of the Tribe of Sin’s onslaught. Vibrant paintings were slashed, and the once-polished dance floor was littered with shards of glass, splintered furniture, and scorch marks.
Beldon walked across the room, taking note of all the wounded. He observed the fear in the eyes of those who hadn’t had the strength to fight back but were unable to escape when the Tribe initiated the attack. In one corner, a group of elderly and young individuals huddled together, recovering from the ordeal while the knights who had protected them rested on the ground, catching their breath.
It was a scene of destruction and disorder that he would have preferred never to have witnessed in his own home.
Perhaps it could be considered a saving grace that the majority of the casualties seemed to be on the Tribe’s side, and most of the non-combatants had escaped serious harm. The duchy would spare no expense in treating those present, so he suspected few would leave Windgrove with more than a scar. Healers were likely already being roused throughout the city to rush over and provide their aid.
However, considering what they might have lost tonight, he wasn’t sure how comforting that thought was.
As he walked, he spotted his father in the center of the room, stepping onto what remained of the stage there.
Santos Tyndall wore his usual stern expression, but the ash and blood on his clothes revealed how vulnerable he had been during the attack. As did the cold fury behind the man’s eyes.
“Esteemed guests,” his deep voice resonated across the entire ballroom, likely reaching even the adjacent chambers. “I stand before you now with a heavy heart, dismayed by the senseless attack that has been carried out against us all. Some of you may remember when our empire battled against them and pushed them back over a decade ago, but for those of you unaware, this vile act was perpetrated by none other than our most contemptible and eternal enemy: the Tribe of Sin.”
Whispers of shock rose around the room, but most remaining guests likely already knew this.
“We may not know the complete reasoning behind their actions,” the Duke continued, “but one thing remains clear, as it has not changed since the inception of our empire. The Tribe of Sin is still nothing more than a gathering of cowards who seek to instill fear and panic among our numbers. However, I will tell you this: we will not be cowed by their dastardly deeds. As we have done in the past, we will stand tall, with our heads held high, and we will not yield to their will. We will not allow their despicable acts to disrupt the peace and prosperity that we and our predecessors have worked tirelessly for generations to achieve.”