Vittorio Intaglio, Heir-Inquisitor

The ebbing fog of sleep was parted by a soft, familiar voice amidst a flurry of gentle knocks.

“Vittorio! Vittorio!” The voice said, following with another series of hurried knocks. I groaned out a nigh inaudible retort as one of my arms slacked off the side of the bed, my eyes fluttering open, squinting as the morning sun began to flood into my gaze. The knocking continued, muffled repetitions of my name ushering me up from the comfort of my bed and onto the floor with a soft “Thud!”

“Oh dear, Vittorio!” the voice cried out as the door swung open, the figure rushed in, it was Emerenzia, my father’s maid. She hurried to my side and knelt beside me “Are you hurt?” She said, her piercing green eyes glaring down at me as she parted her bangs from her face. She grabbed at my outstretched hand and tried to coax me from the floor.

I shook my head as she helped me up, a soft giggle coming from her lips. “Your father desires an audience with you, posthaste, as he said.”

I shook my head, trying to scatter the ever-present fog of a broken rest. “Such short notice…”

“Mmh.” She nodded as she dusted me off with her hand. “Don’t tarry much Vittorio, your pyjamas will do.” She said, escorting me out of my quarters. As I turned to make way to my father’s office, i felt a soft tug at the elbow of my sleeve. I turned to face Emerenzia, who was holding a small wooden box within her hands. “Oh, for you, Vittorio. Your brother asked me to hold onto it.”

I took the box in hand, feeling over the soft wooden face. It’s been years since I had seen Legasu, his face barely came to mind even when I thought of him. When I looked back up, Emerenzia had already departed. I spared a second to glance back down at the box before returning to my room, placing it against my desk. I made my way to my father’s office.

It was fairly short walk from my quarters. It had become quite crowded as I exited the dormitory to the common hall, hushed chatter in various dialects coming from every which way. Most of those gathered donned seemingly formal attire, polished steel betwixt supple fabrics without chain nor leather to interrupt the flow, I felt grossly out of place.

The crowd thinned as I entered the large doors to the official quarter, where my father and his closest bureaucrats worked. Arcolano, the soft-spoken lord solicitor of the Inquisition was pacing the halls, poring over what seemed to be a handful of vellum. He looked up from them and towards me as I timidly latched the doors shut behind me.

“Vittorio, good morning!” He called out, ushering me towards him with a hand as the other fished through a satchel at his side.

“Ser Vecci, how are you today?” I said, following with a soft bow at the hip.

“Arcolano will do, Vittorio, you know this.” He quipped as he absently fished about a bit before withdrawing a jingling pouch, “Hand,” he added, firmly.

Confused, I cupped my hands ahead which he quickly filled with a small pouch stuffed with coin.

“Even a studious bureaucrat like I is prone to misplace imperial funds some days. Only human, after all.” He said, his soft hand grasping my shoulder with a reaffirming shake. “Off to your father now, Vittorio. And think nothing of this.” He added as he withdrew the vellum he set aside, poring over them once more as I continued on my way, his soft muttering melding with the flickering and popping of candles as new sounds pulled to the forefront. Laughter, from my father’s office.

Twice I knocked before his voice called out. “Come in, Vittorio, come in.”

I did just that, making haste to present myself before him and the stranger that sat ahead of his desk. An intricate suit of blackened steel armor embellished with golden trim, long locks of gray hair draping over his shoulders and back while a full beard reached down to the apex of his chestpiece, tired blue eyes piercing deep into my gaze.

“This is Herus Vasto Siculli, of the Legio Fatto.” Father said, gesturing to the man who retorted with a faint bow.

“A pleasure, young heir.” Vasto added at that. “I take it your birthday is treating you well.”

“Birthday?” I said in my head, realizing that had been the reason the gifts came to me, and not some awkward stroke of social luck. The awkward silence of my self-reflection was broken up by my father’s voice.

“Vittorio? Would you like to join us.” He said, gesturing to the seat beside Vasto.

I nodded and went to join them, sitting as I spoke. “I didn’t realize today was my birthday.” I said, softly.

Vasto chuckled at that. “I’ll take that as the day treating you well, then.”

“Mmh.” I retorted. “It’s nice to meet you, Master Siculli.”

He smiled, waving a hand. “Spare the formalities, young heir, in the great scheme of things it would do me well to call you Master instead.”

“Times are peaceful, and you’re finally coming into adulthood Vittorio. I arranged for the Herii of the inquisition to make time for you today, Vasto here came all the way from Vietze.” My father said.

“All this for my birthday?”

“For your future, rather. It would do you well to shadow one of these men, it was a privilege I lacked when I was your age.”

I dipped my head a bit. “The crisis?”

He nodded, “And my late father alongside it. With the right tutoring I could see you surpassing me in no-time, education is far beyond the level of teaching that occurs in trenches after all.”

Vasto interrupted. “I heard from your father, young heir, that you were quite sword-shy but took well to the vellum. I believe you’d do well in the universities of Vietze, it’s been some time since a budding Lord Inquisitor studied amongst us. I’m sure you’d make good company with the young legioni of my flock. Lord Brusa still struggles with my flowery prose when I send correspondence.”

I smiled at that. “So you’re the one.”

Father chuckled. “Aha, yes, Vittorio often winds up as the one helping me trim the fat from your letters so I can parse them.”

“A legioni of my heart, then.” Vasto added with a wide, affirmed grin. “I won’t pressure you any further, young heir. There’s a cavalcade of my peers eagerly awaiting the honor of poaching you away from Provvidenza. The fresh-faced inheritor of the Cacciare had accompanied here to the capital, in fact. We were enjoying each other’s company in Vietze when the runner informed me of this soiree.”

“Oh, had he?” Father quipped. “Too shy to pay me a visit, afraid i’ll chide him for his holiday in Vietze?”

“Breakfast, rather. He was coaxed by the dining hall before I could even notice his departure.” Vasto said with a dismissive flourish of his hand. “He’ll find us at his leisure, once he’s bled the pantry dry.”

We sat and bandied words for a good while, the heady discourse of imperial affairs punctuating casual discussion too mundane to include in letters of correspondence. Vasto was quite sociable for such an old knight, jovial and unbothered by what one could assume was a lifetime of strife. The discourse betwixt mundanity dissolved into static as I mulled about thoughts in my head, my father’s earlier comment hanging in my head. I heard my name, Vasto’s voice piercing the haze.

“Something on your mind, young heir?” He said, turning to face me.

“The past, I suppose. My father’s.”

Father let out a soft sigh, his smile dulling a bit. “Regardless of your decision, Vietze’s libraries are likely stuffed with literature on the crisis, a weekend there with the Herus would fill you in.”

“No, I meant your past, not the crisis. Your father, my grandfather, the shoes you had to fill.”

“Some stories are best left untold, I’d wager.” A soft voice chimed in, through a crack in the door which slowly lurched further open, giving way to a man I’d yet to see until my face turned to meet his, his tired, crystalline eyes glaring into my own as nary a smile creased his supple lips. “The young heir, untarnished by strife. A sight to behold.” The stranger said, eying me from head to toe with a curious glance as his hand rose to rub at the subtle edge of his jaw in contemplation.

Vasto laughed, “And so the pale hunter shows his face, has your pantry raid bore any fruit? Have you earned your wage?”

He dipped his head just a bit, shielding a grin with his hand. “Witches amidst the pastries, put to the blade like the rest.”

Father spoke up. “Cecco Fania, in the flesh. I pray Master Siculli was good company on your little stop in Vietze?”

“What else was I to do in that rural tenement you call a hall, the Cacciare pace the length of our barracks like restless ghosts.” He remarked, his once-occupied hand dismissively waving to the side. “I’d have dented the wood of my study with my head if I waited any longer for something to do.”

“What he means to say is yes. Cecco’s quite the scraper of vellums when he’s bored out of his wits.” Vasto added. chuckling once more. “He’s cold as ice, this one. Kill a devil once-“

“Tch.” Cecco scoffed, interrupting. “Ever intent on digging at me, are we?”

“So it’s a trend then, vacations to Vietze?” Brusa remarked sternly towards the icy-haired boy who lingered by the door.

“As much a trend as it is to leave me without work in the middle of nowhere.” Cecco finished as he moved towards me. His presence was cold, the faint hairs of my body standing on end as the numbing chill of his aura dug into my skin. “So you’re the inheritor of this all, then?” He said, staring down at me curiously as if his previous scan wasn’t enough to sum me up.

I stood to face him, a gentle bow from the hip following. He stood almost a fists height above me, my eyes level with the soft tip of his button nose as the faintest tendrils of fog danced off the curve of his lips, pirouetting about his nose as I hazily stared on in awe.

“He’s quite empty, Brusa, does he fall into trances like this often?” Cecco quipped.

I shook my head. “I-I apologize, Herus.” I said, a growing heat burning in my face.

“Tch.” Cecco scoffed once more. “Red in the face over a bit of cool air?”

“I’d never seen someone-“

“Like me before?” He interrupted, finishing my sentence.

“Mmh.” I nodded.

Cecco shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’d do well to shadow me then, you’d have all the time to ogle me like some exhibit while we sat about doing nothing in the middle of nowhere.” He said as he returned to the door, leaning against the frame as he continued to laugh under his breath. “It would do you well to limit his choice, Brusa, lest you wind up wasting this opportunity on the Cacciare of all things. I’m sure the Censimento are in need of more headcounters, or the Barbarico another set of arms to bully the natives.”

“What exactly do you do, then?” I asked.

“Study the wood grain of my office, mostly.” He said dismissively. “Then we all get together to behead some hag who stumbled upon the wrong set of gods every few months.”

Brusa retorted before I could. “Sounds like you’re in need of a pupil then, Master Fania?” A wide smile creasing the tired edges of his lips. “Anything to keep you from waltzing off to Vietze again to gallivant around the libraries, mmh?”

Cecco waved a hand at that. “I hadn’t taken you for the abusive sort, consigning your son to die of boredom. It’ll be a month before he’s playing in the wagon paths just to wring some excitement out of his post.”

Brusa laughed. “All this whinging Cecco, for a rimeknight you’re quite hotheaded.”

“Mmh.” He nodded. “You’d do the same if you were demoted to chair-warmer of the Cacciare.”

“Cherish these quiet times, young herus. I’d have killed to laze away in a rural outpost in my youth.”

Cecco shook his head, clearly annoyed. “The young heir would do well to familiarize himself with the rest of the flock.”

“And risk dooming you to a lifetime of rural drudgery?”

“Is that a threat, Brusa?”

“It seems to be the status quo, rather.”

He chuffed, turning up his nose at that. “And what changes then, two men driven to madness rather than just one?”

“Is your idea of education staring at a wall and drooling, Cecco?”

“For an old man you banter like a child, Brusa.”

Father held a stern gaze at Cecco before exploding into laugher. “You’re lucky I’m so fond of you, Cecco, any other brat of your stature and i’d have defenestrated you down into the river.”

“Most ‘brats’ have yet to fell gods.”

“False gods, Cecco, and you’ve felled a single one.” Brusa added, pointing a finger at him.

“And how many have you felled in your day, old man?”

“Count up to your age and throw a few more on for fun.”

I interrupted. “Gods?”

“Demons, rather, what the rest of them all call such things.” Cecco replied.

“The young herus enjoys embellishment, choice words to flower his accomplishments.” Vasto chimed.

“And the old herus enjoys downplaying and picking fun, a favored sport of the Legio Fatto. Hard to spin a tall tale out of the last scroll you read, after all.” Cecco jabbed at Vasto, who chuckled in retort.

“They’re beasts born of chance, manifested out of nothing but a man.” Cecco affirmed.

“And the one you killed?” I asked.

“Some knuckle-dragging mockery of a man, screamed in pain as it moved around. Flailed at whatever came near it and flung fire at whatever it couldn’t reach.” A hand moved to his hip as the other gestured alongside his speech. “Killed the old herus, cast him off into the bush, charred to a crisp, took a dozen other Cacciare before I got to it.”

“So thats how you became herus then, you took his place?”

“Mmh.” He nodded. “Cut it clean in half.”

“And then he fileted it and cooked it up too, all by himself.” Brusa added sarcastically.

Cecco’s eyes darted to meet my father’s, “I suspect wasting your life fiddling with daggers and sideswords spoiled your expectations in combat, Brusa. I don’t have time to waste hacking away at men like trees before they die.”

“Plenty of time to lounge about in Vietze though, mm?”

Cecco exhaled sharply. “Are you this bothered by it still?”

“If I asked you to sit on a pile of dirt and wait, I’d expect you to be there when I returned. This was a staffed lodge, with attendants and servants, of course I’m bothered. It’s a job post, not a poorly planned vacation spot.”

“Sorry, Brusa.” Cecco said, sighing.

“Good, it’s hard to wrestle those words out of your mouth.”