Rolec

Some part of him yearned for greater and better things. Ambitious, they said of him in his youth. Driven, they said in his adolescent years. And now, the celestial ruler of his own slice of land, his to mold and bend and break, there was no one to say otherwise.

It seemed odd that he was so fond of this place when there were others who scoffed at him and turned their noses up at his meager holdings. They saw Ójafnaðr as nothing more than a barren wasteland filled with criminals and vicious beasts. A menagerie with him its sole keeper and toiler.

Perhaps if they had seen what he had done their views would change. The inner workings that lay beneath the rough and stony facade. But Rolec kept his plans hidden, his motives buried, a spider in his very web of mechanisms. After all, it wouldn’t do for the King to realize what lay just beyond his reach, to see the frozen expanse as the treasure trove it truly was.

Oh, let dear Rolec handle those creatures, the court would say, sending away yet another incorrigible soul into his clutches, his land nothing more than the nation’s trash can for all the vermin and scum they were too wont to keep. Just another place lock them up and throw away the key. But men forgotten had a way of coming back like the rot that poisoned the town’s well supply, or the plague that crept stealthily in.

While they had been off celebrating their marvelous idea, patting themselves on the back for finally getting rid of this worthless piece of ice, Rolec had been dealing in secrets. The shadows whispered to him, tidbits and news and back parlor deals.

There were many backing the throne with less than savory ideals, many who hid their past misdeeds behind rosy smiles and dainty laughs, all vying for some form of control, an edge up without making a ripple in the pond.

It was just as well Rolec could make ripples into waves with them none the wiser.

“Baron Rolec,” his steward Crispin said, staring straight ahead and trying not to fidget. Rolec had seen him when he’d first arrived, a sniveling wreck that jumped at every shadow. And while Crispin had grown in that time, as cold as their surroundings, still Rolec could hear the trace of a tremor in his voice, his words too hollow to be easy true. A chicken trying so valiantly to live in the fox den.

“Yes?” Rolec asked, all sanguine and honey, a king on his throne.

“A prisoner is revolting.”

His armies were steadily growing, his beasts faithful and loyal. With everyone he defrosted from these icy catacombs, Rolec grew wiser and stronger. It was only a matter of time now until he would decide to act. Until he razed the kingdom to the ground and toppled it to its knees.

Until then…

Rolec hummed noncommittally, waving a hand lazily. “Give it to Rivoltante to handle,” he said, utterly unconcerned. “He deserves a treat.”

Crispin wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his grimace, but the steward nodded all the same and left to do as he bid.

The door shut quietly behind him, the clock chimed above the mantelpiece a single haunting and echoing tune, and Rolec didn’t move. There would be another corpse to clean up that night, an appetizer and precursor for the many more to come by the time he was finished.

This world was his to mold and bend and break. And if the rivers ran red and the fields were salted… well, it was his divine right to rule them all.