Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 25 - Mayor Cortobrane

Note: I enjoyed writing this part, as I think this is one of the more despicable, yet colorful, characters that will meet in our journey. Here's the latest contest update. Again, 4's and 5's get you moved up to the second round. There have been 43 votes – 5 - 2%; 4 – 35 %; 3 – 38%; 2 – 9%; 1 – 16%. I don't really know how long you have before they cut you out or the exact percentage you need to move on. They're a little vague on that point. I'd say it's pretty good to have 75% at 3 or above. I decided to do a little test or contest of my own, by entering the first page of the first CD project. Obviously, it's a different genre, so we may get a different pool of readers. After a week, here's where "Mark of Cain" stands – 14 votes – 5 – 0%; 4 – 50%; 3 – 29%; 2 – 7%; 1 – 14%

Disc 2
Track 4: Old School Hollywood – System of a Down

“Standing in the sun I’m wasting my time”

His thick fingers pulled back the Cluckers dry skin, snapped the spine and a dribble of pink blood dripped out. Ahna had not cooked it to his liking. He spat once on the ground, sending one of the three servants kneeling near the table scurrying away. Ahna was to receive ten lashes when he was displeased with his meal.

There was not to be a drop of blood left in the Cluckers body when he ate each evening at sunset on the patio that looked over the gardens he had built off the west side of the Mayor’s estate. Before he had come to Stra, the west side of the estate had been quarters for servants and their families. He had them torn down, he cared not where the servants statyed now. His rules were more important.

He was to eat two Cluckers, weighing about three pounds each, every evening at sunset. There was to be three goblets of wine, one white, one red and another of the servants’ choosing, but it must be of a vintage that he had never tasted before. Near him were to be three servants, on bended knee, silent and attentive. He had signals for what he wanted done that each were to have memorized. If any part of the meal or their service was not up to standards, he spat and sent him or her away. If all three were gone by the end of the meal, then all the servants were to be lashed. Some called his demands odd, but the fact of the matter was that Randall Cortobrane simply understood exactly what he wanted.

Above all the other rules, he was not to be disturbed during his meal. That had been ruined before the first Clucker had been served when Thomas Vedder, Guild Tsar of Stra’s Civil Guard, barged onto the patio uninivited. Randall glowered at the man, knowing the oldest rule was true – “he who owns the swords, makes the rules.” Someday soon, Randall would teach Mr. Vedder and all the Guild Tsars of Stra to bend to his will and whim. The woman had promised it and he would make sure that her rare beauty would be permanently tarnished if she did not hold up her end of the bargain. He did not know how she could deliver what she had said, but he believed her.

Vedder fidgeted in front of Randall’s view of the sun as it touched the horizon. Randall winced and waved his hand for the man to move. He wore a green coat with gold stitching and dark slacks, the formal uniform of the Civil Guard. His hair was dark and flowed in waves behind his ears and his face was covered with a well-groomed brown beard. Vedder had friendly brown eyes despite being a hard man with a reputation for being vicious when necessary. Vedder was also a reknowned singer. Watching him now, Randall wondered how the man had enough composure to sing in front of a crowd much less command a legion of the Civil Guard with any semblance of success. Vedder rolled his eyes as he stepped over two feet. It eased Randall’s mind to see the sun drop. It was not madness to take solace in habit and ritual. It was not.

“Mayor Cortobrane,” Vedder started, but stopped as Randall heaved the Clucker’s carcass out into the garden. The second servant stood and ran toward the mansion. Ahna would receive another ten lashes. The man should refer to him as ‘Lord’ or, at least, ‘Sire.’ These Tsars liked flashing their own status too much.

“I do not bother you, Mr. Vedder, when you’re out carrolling in the taverns and whore’s stables,” Cortobrane broke into the seond Clucker. It was prepared well and he bit into it lustily. His appetite had never been so robust as it had been since he was basically banished to Stra by his dear cousins. He was getting fat and he knew it and didn’t care. When you ruled all, you had to be larger than the rest. The only thing he didn’t like was that he sweated like a pig at meals and the curls of his hair matted down to his head. Perhaps, he would change one rule and have a servant to fan him while he ate. A just thought, but it may be noisy and bothersome.

“Mayor, we must act,” Vedder said. “I care not for when or how you cosume your meals. The beacons of Omet have been lit for three days and yet we do not move. We are loyal to the Kings of Satar, we must answer their call.”

“Yet, you cannot,” Randall smiled. It was old law that said only the mayor could approve the marching of the Civil Guard away from the city. As openly as the Guild Tsars challenged the Mayor’s authority in every other matter, they never refused him the power that the old laws delegated to him. It was a very convenient perk to have this little string to attach to the guard and pull to him when the opportunity was ripe. Right now, it was very ripe.

“You know the mayor must call for the march,” Vedder said. “And lead it.”

Randall sank his teeth deep into the second Clucker and nearly choked hearing the man admit that he needed the mayor. This was much better entertainment than the setting sun. You’ll be singing and dancing for me soon, Mr. Vedder. You just wait and see.

“I cannot make such a call,” Randall wiped his hands on a cloth napkin and then tossed it to the ground. The servant had retrieved it by the time Randall had picked another napkin from the precisely folded stack on the table. “It would not be prudent.”

“It would not be prudent to ignore the Kings’ call,” Vedder grew more agitated. “We must not risk retribution.”

“Do not bother yourself with the Kings of Satar,” Randall nearly choked again, trying to spit out that Eden and that brute of brother, Ewam, Perde had control of the entire kingdom. Not even the Perdes knew how old the Cortobrane line ran. It was older than the Perdes and more deserving of the throne, but tradition had kept him from assuming the seat. The damn Perdes had held that position too long. It was time for the Cortobranes to lead Satar. The world would quake in his footsteps. “I am in the good graces of my dear cousins. They will understand that I cannot leave the city defenseless in such times.”

Vedder’s eyebrows rose. Cortobrane knew what was happening when the sun went down in the city. Folks were turning up missing every morning. Those that were eventually found were in pieces that were hardly recognizable save for a strip of clothing or a piece of jewelry. He knew that the citizenry was losing faith in the Civil Guard Guild and that meant the Guild was losing faith in Thomas Vedder. The man needed an anchor for his authority.

“Tell the Guild, that if the beacons remain lit in a week, we will offer aid to our brothers in Omet. In that time, you will secure the city at night so that no more of our fine people are lost.”

Vedder’s face was a bright red that glowed even in the waning light. He was being usurped. Coming here had been a fatal mistake for this Guild Tsar, in doing so, he had unintentionally forfeited all his control to the man he despised more than any other. Vedder’s head bowed slightly and he stalked off.

Randall hummed as he finished the second Clucker and noticed that the last servant was wearing a grin also. Without saying a word, Cortobrane spat twice on the ground. The servant’s eyes bulged before running off. The man, really no more than a boy, was to recieve 50 lashes along with the rest of the staff. Servants were to be mute unless required to speak and deaf unless ordered to hear. The boy had better learn that.

He took a gulp from all three goblets, not bothering to savor the taste of any of the wines. The sun was all but gone and the garden was full of shadows. Torches were lit sporadically on sidewalks and off the corners of the mansion, but they did not give great light. The dark raised his nerves; he knew very well what was going on in the night of Stra.

Almost on cue, one of the shadows started to take on form and move toward where the first Clucker’s carcass had landed in the grass. It was too dark to make out a figure other then paws and a thickset jaw. The crack of bones followed curlting his stomach, and he jumped when a pair of icy fingers touched his neck.

“You did well, Master Cortobrane,” the woman walked around behind him as his heart raced.

“Curses and graves, woman!” He coughed to cover up that he had nearly screamed. He never knew when she was going to show up or how. His skin tingled where she had touched and he lusted for her touch to return. He had already decided if she held up her end of the bargain then he would make her queen. She was suitable for the spot, and even though he had never had much use for women, her company was something he very much desired.

“Did I frighten you Master Cortobrane, “ he loved the way his name rolled off her tongue. “The way you handled that young bull, I did not think anything could frighten you.” She sat down across from him, which left him disappointed. Two nights earlier, she had sat upon his lap. The thought of it sent blood to his head and elsewhere. All the extra work made his heart hurt pumping so hard. He really needed to cutback on his meals.

“Just surprised me my dear, that’s all,” he waved away his anxiety, but the fear never completely vanished around her or her cohorts. “The boy wants to answer the beacons, and I must say, he’s not the only one that’s been after me about it. Even the servants are talking and that I cannot have”

“Soon you’ll move the Guard, Master Cortobrane, soon,” she reached across the table, those big green eyes flashed his way. She could have told him anything at that point. He pulled away trying to keep his wits. No woman would make him some cow-eyed idiot.

“No matter, I could care less about aiding Eden and Ewam Perde,” Randall found a leftover bun in basket next to his plate and bit into it. It was cold and hard, but it had been sitting there too long to blame that on the servants. He studied the woman, as he had all three times that he had met with her. She had shown up a little over a week ago, in his bedchamber of all places, and started negotiating conditions for a bargain he had never thought would come his way. She had powerful friends that much was clear, and although they did not reveal themselves as much more than figures in the shadows, he could tell they could accomplish things through stealth that he could not through authority. So he bargained with the woman, and now, he could not help being enamored with her.

“Do you know the history of Stra after the spilling of the Belnor, Master Cortobrane,” the woman asked? It occurred to him then that he still did not know her name.

“It was a refuse for those loyal to Isa trying to escape the influx of those from Besa after the flood,” Randall shrugged; he had studied the history of Satar along with every other child in the noblility. Stra was the eldest city in Satar. Its only other distinction was the Guilds that made his life hell.

“Very true,” the woman smiled. “They were a group very loyal to the old kingdom. Everyone who felt strong loyalty to Isa flocked to Stra and worked their way into the Guilds.”

“What does any of this matter?”

“Old loyalties die hard.”

Her eyes flickered over his shoulder and a black robed figure stalked up behind him. He rose, grabbing at a dagger in his belt, but the figure’s hand shot out and forced him back down. He was sure the fingers had been green. The firgure carried a burlap sack thats contents rattled as he dropped it on the table. The figure left then and vanished in the shadows of the garden.

“Go ahead, look inside.” She flashed those eyes again.

He hesitated; worrying that there may be remains or something worse hidden in the bag. Slowly, he lifted the top and undid the drawstrings. Opening it up, he wrinkled his forhead trying to see inside. Reaching in, his hand latched onto something heavy and metal and pulled it out.

It was a silver breastplate, with a dragon’s face of green and black painted across the front. He knew what that insignia was. He put that down on the table and reached back into the bag. He withdrew a gold crown with a giant emerald as its center stone. He set that by the breastplate and dropped the empty sack to the ground.

“What do these old relics have to do with anything,” Randall was starting to doubt their deal. “My family has hundreds of old Isa breastplates and such at our estate in the country. They even have some from Besa. I don’t need any more for the collection.” He said it all, and meant it, except for the crown. That was something he would not mind keeping.

“Fool,” she laughed at him. “Do you not know what you’re looking at? This is the crown and breastplate for the King of Isa.”

“So?”

“The crown we found in one Guild Tsar’s home, the breastplate in another,” she went on. “All here in Sta.”

“None of this is worth anything. Isa is gone. This is the kingdom of Satar.” He stood up to leave. She jumped to her feet and slapped him fast across the face, leaving burning streaks of pain across his fat cheek. He recoiled from her and again thought about the blade at his hip. He never reached for it remembering how fast the robed figure had appeared then vanished into the shadow. He didn’t think he’d even draw the dagger before the figure was atop him.

“Oh, Master Cortobrane, if you ever want to be King, you’re going to have to start seeing around corners better,” she put her hand back up to his face and the pain drained from him. “If the crown and the breastplate are here, then what of real value may also be in Stra?”

Randall was still thinking about the slap and then the disappearance of his pain when he realized what she was getting at. Stra housed all of the remnants of the King of Isa.

“The sword,” he was almost hoarse from excitement and fear.

“Fangen,” the name of the ancient sword came out like a melody on her voice.

“Where?” He made two fists and held them before her. “Where?”

She smirked and turned away from him. He grabbed her arm, as he did he could feel them all around him. Figures in dark robes that clung to the darkness and then the others, those were not robed and not men. He could not bear to look in their direction.

“Remember our agreemant, our plan, Master Cortbrane,” she eyed his hand as he let go.

“Aye.”

“Good.”

“Where?”

That smirk returned to her face.

“It is the old rule is it not? He who owns the sword makes the rules.”

She walked away then leaving him for a moment confused. It occurred to him then. Mr. Thomas Vedder and the Civil Guard were going to get a visit from Mayor Randall Cortobrane very soon.