Tiberius Anar
Mar 15th, 2005, 05:29:57 AM
Night had come to Belsavis. In the velvet sky above the twinkling stars mingled with the blinking lights of the myriad starships in orbit. Below the sprawls of military bases and cities gave off a yellow glow and formed spider’s webs of light across the planet’s Southern Hemisphere. In between these great webs lay pinpricks of light from smaller towns and settlements, and from the estates of the wealthiest residents, near the edge of the great black expanse of uncultivated rainforest to the North.
Far out, away from the rest was one such pinprick. It was smaller than the rest and somewhat dimmer. Yet it was important. Indeed it was the most important of such lights on this night. For it was the estate of Baron Mikell de Nostradaum, formerly Lord High Chancellor of the Imperial Sovereignty.
* * *
The Baron stood on the terrace of his manor, beneath the colonnade that ran the full length of the manor’s rear wall. He stood bathed in the yellow glow of the lights that shone in the windows. A glass of brandy was in his hand and a cigar was clutched between his lips. Blue smoke swirled around his head in the still night air.
The thoughts of this machiavellian creature were fixed upon a point elsewhere. Thyferra. The Imperial Capital, which was somewhere above his head in the night sky. He had made the journey there three times since his ‘retirement’. (A more accurate description would have been betrayal- but that was what it was referred to as, and who was Mikell de Nostradaum to argue with the common thought?) Once to receive the platitudes of those he had helped to rise and who had now repaid with ingratitude; once to receive the last honours due him and to collect the last of his hidden reserves; and once to torment his chief betrayer. Tiberius Drusus Nero Anar- what pompous and over elaborate name that was! But how glorious to torment him, particularly with that name.
De Nostradaum’s thoughts wandered back to the Opera House, whilst below in the garden guards patrolled. One would have expected them to guards set there by new regime to keep the Baron in his place, but they were not. They were his own- though most were on a hefty retainer from the Inquisitorate to keep an eye upon their employer and to report on his activities. They walked along the lighted paths of the garden, or stood at doors or windows alert for any threat and for any wrong move- be it by their master or his enemies.
One such guard was at the edge of the lake that formed one boundary to the small estate. He was at the bottom of the great slope of lawn and trees, but still had a clear view of the slightly rounded figure of the Baron some distance above him- silhouetted against the yellow lights of the house. As the guard watched, the figure retreated inside. The guard took a last drag on his cigarette before taking it from his mouth and flicking it high over his head. He watched the small speck of orange light trace a graceful arc through the black of the night, then turned to continue with his patrol.
Far out, away from the rest was one such pinprick. It was smaller than the rest and somewhat dimmer. Yet it was important. Indeed it was the most important of such lights on this night. For it was the estate of Baron Mikell de Nostradaum, formerly Lord High Chancellor of the Imperial Sovereignty.
* * *
The Baron stood on the terrace of his manor, beneath the colonnade that ran the full length of the manor’s rear wall. He stood bathed in the yellow glow of the lights that shone in the windows. A glass of brandy was in his hand and a cigar was clutched between his lips. Blue smoke swirled around his head in the still night air.
The thoughts of this machiavellian creature were fixed upon a point elsewhere. Thyferra. The Imperial Capital, which was somewhere above his head in the night sky. He had made the journey there three times since his ‘retirement’. (A more accurate description would have been betrayal- but that was what it was referred to as, and who was Mikell de Nostradaum to argue with the common thought?) Once to receive the platitudes of those he had helped to rise and who had now repaid with ingratitude; once to receive the last honours due him and to collect the last of his hidden reserves; and once to torment his chief betrayer. Tiberius Drusus Nero Anar- what pompous and over elaborate name that was! But how glorious to torment him, particularly with that name.
De Nostradaum’s thoughts wandered back to the Opera House, whilst below in the garden guards patrolled. One would have expected them to guards set there by new regime to keep the Baron in his place, but they were not. They were his own- though most were on a hefty retainer from the Inquisitorate to keep an eye upon their employer and to report on his activities. They walked along the lighted paths of the garden, or stood at doors or windows alert for any threat and for any wrong move- be it by their master or his enemies.
One such guard was at the edge of the lake that formed one boundary to the small estate. He was at the bottom of the great slope of lawn and trees, but still had a clear view of the slightly rounded figure of the Baron some distance above him- silhouetted against the yellow lights of the house. As the guard watched, the figure retreated inside. The guard took a last drag on his cigarette before taking it from his mouth and flicking it high over his head. He watched the small speck of orange light trace a graceful arc through the black of the night, then turned to continue with his patrol.