Dandifrod of the Emberwood Trust

Polished — 36m13s — 2023/12/02

Creigal woke with a start. He found himself in a plush room, as the bright light of day washed through the a large window. The bed was soft and comfortable. A pitcher of water and a fashionable mug sat on a small table to one side. He cringed as he sat up. His side was tight and protested the movement—but it no longer throbbed as before!

Despite his soreness, Creigal was astounded to note the aggressive burn of the rot was no longer there. He peeled up his ruined shirt and stared at his abdomen. Indeed, the black lines of rot were all but gone! His flesh was pink and tender and there was a neat spider webbing of fresh scar tissue where the rot once festered. So much for a painful and arduous treatment! The duke remembered nothing but a confusion of dreams most vivid.

Creigal took a long drink of water and considered his surroundings. He thought Hazle had quite a nice cottage. The window looked out over a small garden with a decorative fence. Beyond that, he noticed the high wall of a fort. Creigal frowned as he noticed the guards upon the tower. A good number of them wore the stylized uniforms of Ministrian shock troops. His thoughts turned to his bodyguards. Where was Carringten? Where were Baet and Toar? What had happened? He was on a litter, bounced by the roughness of the road, as they made their way to Hazle’s village—and then what? He could remember a bit of that, and then—nothing. Just the sweet repose of the dream world, punctuated by incredible stabs of pain, and the faint whisper of unknown voices.

There was only one door to the room. Creigal stepped out of bed and steeled himself for anything. He twisted the latch on the door. It creaked as he pushed it open.

“Come in!” called a sweet timbre—it was the voice of his daughter, Daphne.

As he pushed the door open, Creigal wondered if he was still dreaming. The door swung wide and he half expected to see his daughter waiting for him. Instead, there were four women in a large room of ease and luxury. None was his daughter. Two set aside books and pens. One turned from the work of a mortar and pestle. The last sat and played a lyre as she smiled at Creigal. She alone continued with her task.

“You must be tired. Come. Sit,” the eldest woman waved Creigal to the large table. She had the sharp features of a Ministrian and also their dark hair. The other lady at the table was quite young. She was blonde, and had the large, pale, wide eyes of a Trohl. The woman that worked the mortar and pestle was a Saot with tawny hair and a mischievous smile. She was also quite young, though she lacked the wide-eyed innocence of the Trohl. The one that played the lyre was also a Ministrian, and quite young.

Creigal noted the luxury in which they lived and realized this was a house of Jays, servants of the Empress Seviticah; trained to seduce, manipulate, and kill. He’d known many Jays of the Black Throne. Indeed, he’d often entertained them. They were employed wherever the Black Throne invested, which included all of the Saot Kingdom. Still, he was in no immediate danger. If his captors meant to intimidate or threaten him, a prison cell and a handful of guards would be far more effective. Jays were better at getting information from those that were agreeable or unassuming. It was the velvet glove instead of the iron fist, a fact that gave Creigal hope. If they meant to treat him so kindly, they must not know his true identity.

“How are you?” The eldest Jay asked.

Creigal smiled. “I have been hunted, poisoned, and suffered strange dreams,” he began in a grand manner. “Now, I find that the bugger rot is gone, and there are beautiful women all about! I must say, I am beginning to enjoy myself once more,” he grinned.

With a smile, the dark haired woman offered her hand. “My name is Meriona,” she began. “This is Celesi,” she said of the Trohl. Next, she pointed to the Saot. “That is Alise, and Karamina entertains us with the lyre. Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” Creigal realized.

Meriona clapped twice. An attendant stepped into the room. “Inform Gliedian and Fedring that our guest is awake. Prepare something appropriately festive, yes?”

The attendant bowed and stepped out of the room.

“The Lord Commander, and the Corpus Majoris are quite interested in making your acquaintance,” Meriona smiled.

Military, ecclesiastic, and since one of these Jays was the top civil authority—likely the old one—Creigal realized he had managed to garner the attention of all three branches of the Ministrian government. Then again, he held a good deal of money on his person and the papers of a major Saot company. It was almost to be expected.

“And might we ask who you are?” Meriona continued.

“Goodness me! I forget myself!” Creigal said with a flourish. “I am Dandifrod, Emissary of the Emberwood Trust! I am commissioned to make a survey of northern lands, and consider Wibbeley, Ebertin, Hearthstone, Land’s End, and Hyber Pass for my purpose! Although I have finished with the first town, I must admit, the last few days, I’ve had a terrible time of it!” he continued with a sheepish grin. “And might I ask where we are?”

“This is Camp Calderhal, a fort on the outskirts of Bouge territory. We are a week west of Ebertin, and just as far from Wibbeley, give or take,” Meriona said.

“And what of you? Have you been here long?” Dandifrod asked.

“Some six months—though I’ve split the time between here and Ebertin,” Meriona revealed. “Alise has been here a year and Karamina three months. They are charged with learning all there is to know of Trohls and their culture. Celesi has been here all her life. Her exposure to the culture is perhaps a bit too rich.”

“Here at the camp?” Dandifrod asked.

“Heavens no!” Meriona replied. “Here in Bouge lands. She will travel soon enough. The time is nigh at hand.”

“West?”

Meriona nodded.

“Is she bound for the capital?” Dandifrod continued.

Meriona shook her head. “Tikatis for now. Would you like a drink?”

“Very much so,” Dandifrod gave a nod and a smile.

Meriona turned to Celesi. “Be a dear and pour something suitable.”

Celesi turned, collected several glasses, and a decanter of wine. She poured for Creigal first, then Meriona and her sisters, and finally a glass for herself, in a manner befitting Ministrians, as she was taught to do.

“Thank you,” Dandifrod smiled at Celesi as she set the glass before him. “Are you excited to travel?”

“I am nervous,” Celesi admitted. “Have you ever been to the holy land?”

“Yes, my dear,” he smiled. “I have traveled all along the coast and seen much of Umsuppa. But I have not had occasion to travel inland, not as far as Tikatis. I do hope you find it to your liking.”

“Celesi goes to the City of the Lake because she is unblooded. Do you know the custom?” Meriona asked.

“I do,” Dandifrod said with a nod. He turned to Celesi and raised his glass. “May you get your worth,” he offered with a bittersweet smile.

Meriona sized him up. “You seem a man of the world. Tell me, what price do you think she might get?”

Through his glass of wine, Dandifrod glanced at Celesi and shook his head. “She will not get the proper price,” he said. “Only coin.”

This answer caused a stir among the younger Jays. Alise asked the obvious question, “Pray tell, what is the proper price?”

Dandifrod turned to the young Saot. “Why, the affection of an honest lover, no less and no more,” he said.

“Affection!” Karamina laughed. “Such a trite concept: to find affection between lovers!” Dandifrod turned a critical eye on the young Ministrian as he realized a most unusual thing about her: her voice was a mimic of Daphne’s.

Celesi gave Karamina a short look. “I think it is romantic,” she defended.

“Oh?” Karamina cut in. “Shall affection buy you clothes, jewelry, and a house to shelter you?!” The young Ministrian mocked.

Although Karamina had the voice of Daphne, the sentiments were certainly not the same. Dandifrod turned to Celesi, “And that, my darling, is the difference between the Empire and the Kingdom. In the Empire, everything is for sale; but in my land only love buys love.”

Karamina laughed. “The lies of a Saot!” she charged. “In your land, women sell their bodies, and when the men are not buying, they spit and call them whore! In the Empire, they are kept by the Empress and given the title of priestess! Yet, you would mock us because we do not pretend there are things above money?! We know money is equal to anything!” She waved a finger at Dandifrod. “Your sanctimonious air betrays you! I wager a lune you are from the east!”

Dandifrod smiled. “You have guessed correctly. I am from the land of Ewile. I would gladly pay the bet, but I have misplaced my purse—among other things.” Dandifrod turned to Meriona. “By chance can you tell me what has become of my men?”

Before the eldest Jay could answer, Karamina cut in once more. “Your men are alive and looked after,” she stated. “And you are too hasty in changing the subject! Tell me, how is it in your lands? For these women—for these whores—as they are called?”

Dandifrod frowned, uninterested in a discussion of the oldest profession. Still, the others waited for a response, and so he acquiesced. “I will not defend the actions of so many of my brothers. Treatment of prostitutes is sadly wanting in most parts of the world. Yet, I do not set policy anywhere outside my house. I cannot do anything for most women,” Dandifrod said with a shrug.

“What are the laws in Ewile?” Karamina asked, unwilling to drop the subject.

Dandifrod turned an eye to Meriona, but the eldest Jay did not intercede. Instead, she gazed into her glass as she took a long pull from her wine. She seemed to be enjoying his uneasiness.

Still, it was better than an investigation into his own person—and so Dandifrod answered. “I mustn’t claim to be an authority on the subject, but if memory serves, the laws are sad and contradictory. They are not so bad as one finds in Rottershelm, or among the Dans and Kelmish, where fines, jailing, and corporal punishment are common. Of all the Saot peoples, I think the Breck have the best approach when it comes to the regulation of whoring.”

“The Breck!” Meriona scoffed. “The Breck has almost no law regarding women of pleasure! And there is no tax at all! Next you shall say the Gaur do right by ending so many of their restrictions!”

“No taxes?” Karamina gaped.

“No taxes, for sure, but the Breck has laws; three pertaining to prostitution,” Dandifrod noted. “All sellers must disclose if they suffer any of the nine plagues, there is to be no unsolicited violence, and all parties must be of adequate age,” he noted.

“What are these nine plagues?” Karamina asked.

“Now ladies,” Meriona cut in with a tsk. “This discussion becomes too grim! And we veer far from the original topic.”

“Please remind us,” Alise began. “Of what were we originally speaking, your grace?”

Meriona turned on Dandifrod and pointed her glass at him. “I ask again, what price do you think Celesi can expect in the markets of Tikatis? For her blooding?”

Dandifrod turned to Celesi. “I was privileged to see a class of priestesses auctioned in Umsuppa, though I did not participate,” he explained. “It was quite an enchanting spectacle to see the ladies dressed and primped, I assure you,” Dandifrod eyed Celesi critically, which made the young Trohl uncomfortable. “Might I ask your age?”

Celesi answered with her head bowed, “I am nineteen, your honor.”

“Indeed, that she is nineteen and unblooded is rare for a Ministrian, is it not?” Dandifrod asked.

“It is not so rare for those of foreign blood,” Meriona noted.

“Among Ministrians, I suspect she is quite exotic,” Dandifrod continued. “There are few blondes in the Empire. She is going to be a Jay, I presume, and not a mere priestess?”

“That is her path,” Meriona nodded. “We shall see how far she takes it.”

“Well, then. Enough of my stalling. I’d say she can expect a minimum of three sovereign. If she smiles at the right time, if she has a flattering outfit, and if the sun shines upon her just so, I think she may get as much as a gold sol,” Dandifrod concluded.

Karamina gaped and Alise shot a look of envy at the young Trohl. Celesi blushed. She’d heard many estimates, and where three sovereign was a flattering offer, a sol was almost unheard of. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, despite her uneasiness.

“Whatever the price, the man that gets you is lucky indeed,” Dandifrod lifted his cup. “I only hope you feel the same.”

“A sol!” Karamina laughed. “Now there is no need to take her west at all! Promise a sol and we will deliver her here and now!”

Dandifrod turned on the young Ministrian. She sounded so much like his own daughter, but her words were so haughty and counter to Daphne’s attitudes. It was a shock to his system each time she spoke. With a pained smile, he answered her charge. “I think I should be quite a bad match for the lady,” he said.

To hear that he was uninterested made Celesi like him all the more. He was certainly better than the Baradha she’d met, with their eager hands and vulgar words. Suddenly, she thought bleeding on him might be better then going all the way to Tikatis, only to be bedded by some stranger. “You are not so old, and you say such nice things,” she noted. She looked to Meriona, “I must say I am not contrary to such an arrangement.”

“The Gods bless your soul!” Dandifrod laughed. “But you are younger than my own children! Indeed, you are younger than their children!”

“That would not stop many. In fact, that would entice most!” Karamina noted.

Alise snorted. “Saots are so very strange! I should be thankful I know so little of my own people!”

“Come now! Remember your manners,” Meriona chided the young Jays.

“They are simply being frank,” Dandifrod shrugged. “Besides, she is wrong about her own countrymen. Many among my nation would indeed be enticed by such a beautiful youth. I fear that I am an outlier in this, no matter the land.”

“The north grows cold when the sun sets,” Karamina smiled at Dandifrod. “If you do not like Celesi, we have many priestesses of every age. I’m sure there are at least a few that might teach you the rituals of the true gods—if only for a few nights.” Karamina turned toward Meriona. “Surely one of his station deserves nothing less, and since he has misplaced his purse, let us provide the fee, so long as he stays with us?”

Celesi and Alise turned to Meriona, curious how she might answer.

Karamina continued. “In fact, if he doesn’t want the Trohl or some random priestess, let me share his bed,” she stated. “I know as much of the ritual as most, and I will not charge at all,” she winked.

“Too kind!” Dandifrod bellowed with a raucous laugh and wide nervous eyes. “You are too kind in spades, I assure you! But I fear I shall be of little sport for some time! I have been quite under the weather, and I imagine tonight will be my first opportunity to sleep a deep and sound sleep. Honestly, I am all too happy that I no longer knock at death’s door,” Dandifrod raised his glass. “That such questions are even open to me proves that your healer has done an exquisite job! Indeed, I wish to thank the good doctor that has restored me! I do hope I can meet her,” He continued, determined to escape the topic of sex altogether.

Meriona gave a cold smile. “Unfortunately, it was none of our masters that managed such a feat. I fear our own surgeons are at a loss concerning the rot—especially a case as advanced as your own. We thought it best to leave you in the hands of a local, one more experienced in dealing with the dangers of this land. We do apologize for taking such a risk with your very person.”

“Considering the outcome, you are quite all right,” Dandifrod smiled. “It looks as if Lady Fate has use for me yet.”

“For years and years to come, I hope,” Meriona smiled. “To life,” she lifted her cup, and the room drank.

“Now, about my men,” Dandifrod began again.

Just then the door opened and cut him off. Several attendants filed into the room. They held platters of food and set them about the table. The first of the attendants turned to Meriona and said, “apologies, your grace, but Fedring is unable to attend.”

“Is he still unwell?” Meriona asked with mock concern. “And I thought our dear Corpus was all better...”

“I do not know the cause for his cancellation,” the attendant noted. “If you like, I will forward your worry to his grace.”

“Do give him our blessing,” Meriona said with a feigned smile. “Well, I fear it is just the lot of us until Gliedian makes his way. Dandifrod, will you invoke the gods, that they may bless this meal?”

Dandifrod gave a slight bow and began immediately. “Twin gods of the sacred song, grant us strength, and curse our enemies,” he said. “Amen.”

Alise and Karamina glanced at each other, surprised that the prayer was begun and finished before they bowed their heads. “Succinct,” Alise noted with a nod of approval.

Dandifrod beamed at the various foods on the table. “I cannot remember the last time I was offered such a marvelous spread,” he admitted. His stomach rumbled with anticipation. The food smelled fantastic! He piled various morsels onto his plate.

“Is it common for a Saot to serve Ooroiyuo and Naharahna?” Celesi asked as she forked food onto her own plate.

“Honestly, I am not much of one for religion at all,” Dandifrod answered. “I esteem the Twin Gods in my own way—as much as any other gods of peace and truth—though I suspect most would call my views heretical. What of you? Is it common among the Trohl?”

“There are many gods among the Trohl, though the highest of all is the one true god, and his saint messenger, the Tallian bodi, Jeiju,” Celesi began.

“Yes, the Lord of Nine Fingers! A soft and passive god indeed!” Karamina cut in with a laugh. “Oh, how your god shall save you, if you just suffer a little bit longer!”

“Ugh!” Alise complained. “My appetite shall be severely disturbed if we must talk religion the entire time,” she rolled her eyes.

“Come now. Dandifrod is a sophisticated man. He only entertains these common superstitions for our amusement! But if we must talk of other things, there are still nine plagues to discuss,” Karamina licked her fingers.

“Now now,” Meriona cut in. “We are eating.”

The conversation turned to mundane matters. Dandifrod asked after many of the dishes and the Jays answered his questions. Some of the foods he knew quite well, though the preparations were strange. Some he’d never seen before. Most he loved. A few he avoided.

As the dinner proceeded, the door opened. Two formidable guards flanked a man of truly average build. The guards had an array of weapons about their persons and seemed quite formidable. They wore heavily decorated pins, ribbons, and medals; while the third man had only a simple medallion around his neck: a pair of fangs, one done in gold and one done in platinum. Dandifrod knew the symbol immediately. This man was a Baradha, one of the true leaders of Minist. He would be dangerous.

“Gliedian, I presume,” Dandifrod said as he stood. He gave a bow and offered a hand.

“And you would be Dandifrod of the Emberwood Trust,” the Ministrian said with a strained smile. He took the hand, and gave it a weak shake. “A pleasure perhaps.” He turned to Meriona. “I apologize for my tardiness. I fear without my continued vigilance, this camp would dissolve back into the wilds in a matter of days. It is truly an impossible task the Empress sets before me—and with so little coin!” Gliedian took up a plate and half-heartedly gathered food with a frown. “But enough of business! What has transpired in my absence?”

“We discuss this bounty, my lord. And before that, we spoke of the gods!” Karamina said with mirth in her eyes. “Would you care to instruct us on the true religion?”

“I would not,” Gliedian waved her off. “If you should like to talk of the gods, bother Fedring. Instead, I would like to hear what brings our good cousin so far north. Do you believe Trohl lands are the best place to invest your Saot monies?”

“My opinion is of little consequence,” Dandifrod admitted. “I am merely here to evaluate possible investments for a consortium of nobles. It is they who will make the final decision.”

“Might I ask whom?” Gliedian continued.

“The Emberwood Trust,” Dandifrod smiled. “I take it you have had much of this from my men?”

“And I would have it from you as well,” Gliedian admitted. “This trust of yours, who is in it?”

“Several Ewile lords, a prince of Gaurring, an Earl and a Viscount of Danya,” Dandifrod shrugged. “If it is names you seek, I apologize, It is not my place to reveal my employers so specifically. I can give you little more than the name of our trust. But I can also tell you that we have offices in Gaetilly, Danyan, Balliwex, and Crimsith Peak that are more than willing to answer all inquiries. You see, for reasons of security, I am sworn to keep certain secrets.”

“Yes. for you are only an envoy,” Gliedian noted. “And what is it you hope to find in Trohl lands? Are your interests agricultural? Do you seek manufactures? Medicines? Conquest?”

“We seek all manner of investment,” Dandifrod answered. “Money is our interest and all manners of making it—especially if it furthers the spread of the one true religion.”

“Indeed,” Gliedian noted. “And which god is this?”

“The god of coin,” Dandifrod smiled. “And may he bless us all!”

“Then you seek to improve my position, for the making of monies?” Gliedian smirked. “But I have the Black Throne behind me and all the coin of the Empress herself. If you wish to add something to my campaign, I implore you, seek to do so within proper channels. Take your requests to Umsuppa and petition the Empress herself.”

“Oh, to see Empress Seviticah!” Dandifrod exclaimed. “I should certainly like such a thing! I hear her beauty is unrivaled!”

“Yes, her beauty,” Gliedian waved him off. “But I can say what she will do. She will ask you deliver your coin to her. Otherwise, she will instruct you to invest closer to home, to change the culture of the Saot. Do you think the true religion has no interests that need attending among your own people?”

“There would be many,” Dandifrod agreed. “But an intrepid man such as yourself could certainly use better funding and achieve better ends. You have admitted the throne provides only the barest of necessity.”

“I shall work within my mandate,” Gliedian answered. “I have no interest in extracurricular activities. For your sake, I say return home and engage in local affairs.”

“To your point,” Dandifrod began. “Some men are worthless at home, and yet, find themselves oddly effective on the road, conducting the world’s trade, which seems to be the curse of your own people,” he smiled. “I had not expected to find Ministrians so far north and east, but I do not mind. Ministrian investment creates a great many opportunities. Our efforts need not be in competition or counter to the goals of your Empress. Indeed, we could do much work that is difficult or simply not of interest to you and yours. We need only know what you’d have us do. If you prefer not to engage with us, that is also fine. I shall look for other opportunities, as I will also honor my mandate.

“Besides, there are other envoys of this consortium, including those that petition my King and your Empress,” Dandifrod continued. “Perhaps it is folly to travel north into Trohl lands—I have certainly suffered dangers. But I will do as I am charged and bring my lords the intelligence they seek. Perhaps my report will convince them of what you say, that their monies are better invested closer to home. Or perhaps they will decide on some other point of the compass. Truthfully, it does not matter to me. I am here simply to be well informed. I have given my word, I am bound, and this is what I will do. To do anything else is a dereliction of duty.”

“Informed? So information is what you seek?” Gliedian clapped. An attendant entered the room and turned to the Baradha. “Clear my plate,” he said as he stood.

As Gliedian stood, the Jays did the same. “My lord?” Meriona asked, somewhat shocked at the impropriety of Gliedian’s actions.

“No. I am tired of this deception, and my appetite suffers. Let us give this man his information, that I might return to my duties,” Gliedian snapped. “We take this land for the Black Throne because we can. It does not matter why the Duke of Gaurring sneaks into my camp. It does not matter what you think you do here. Our plans will proceed uninterrupted.”

Hearing his true title, Creigal frowned. He turned to see that the two heavyset guards now stood over him.

“Yes, I know who you are, Creigal berDuvante,” Gliedian charged. “If you choose to use false names, I will entertain you for a time. But know this: the Bouge are currently at war with the Gaurring. And we, the Empire, are here to save them!”

“To save them?” Creigal began. But it is simply Ministrians dressed as if they were Gaur.”

“Because we must present the enemy, and since you offer no men of your own, we must pretend,” Gliedian smiled. “But you are the genuine article, a true noble of the Saot, here to destroy everything the Bouge hold sacred!”

Creigal frowned. “We both know this is not my purpose.”

“And who is to say otherwise? You? A man of false appearance?” Gliedian smirked.

“Why do you confuse me? I am Dandifrod of the Emberwood Trust, Esquire of the Ewile Court, Friend of the Black Throne. What do I care of your conquest?”

Gliedian leaned forward on the table and looked Creigal in the eye. “I have letter from Count Drefford of Wibbeley. It says that the Duke of Gaurring, Creigal berDuvante, may attempt the road to Ebertin. This Creigal brings two distinct men with him: the first carries two stone throwers of delicate and accurate crafting,” Gliedian opened his thin coat and produced Thunder Maker from its holster. “The other man is a master of multiple weapons, with skin as black as night. Both of these men arrived with you.

“But that is not all Count Drefford wrote,” Gliedian continued. “He asked that if I find you, I arrest you and your men. He asked that I make sure you never leave these lands,” he revealed. “Unlike you, Count Drefford already invests heavily in our endeavors, and I consider him a good friend. We often treat each other with small favors,” Gliedian stated. “But it is never wise to simply throw away a man of your stature—so I have thought of a use for you. If you insist on playing a part, let me describe a new bit of theater! You will be the enemy, and your execution will be a public affair, to lighten the hearts of the Bouge and draw them closer to us! With your death, the Bouge will kowtow at our protecting feet and forget themselves all the more!”

“Then I shall be executed for the sake of your conquest?” Creigal asked.

“This land already belongs to the Black Throne—only the Trohls do not see it.”

“I see it,” Celesi intoned as her blank stare stretched across the table.

Gliedian frowned at the young Trohl. “No, not you. Not all. But you are among the elect, the chosen of the gods. Even among the Trohl, there are chosen,” he said. “But most are oblivious. Most are always blind to the true condition of the world. Is that not the way of it?”

Creigal shook his head. “You are mistaken. In so very many ways, you are mistaken.”

“Am I?” Gliedian smiled. “You are a smart man, but in your plotting, you should be more careful not to bring along someone as novel as a Borz. His kind are too rare this far north. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real work to attend.” The Lord Commander stood and approached the door. With the knob in hand, he turned back to Creigal once more. “You are a royal person, and so the conditions of your capture will be of a suitable fashion. Play along and the road will be one of leisure in a carriage with these fine ladies for company. As for your execution—it will be prompt and professional. However,” Gliedian glared at the old Saot. “If you test my patience, we will drag you through the streets to suffer the scorn and mockery of the commoners. You will linger in the darkest, dampest hole we can secure, and when we finally get around to carrying out your execution—a thing you will view as a great kindness when the time finally comes—know that it will be a botched and messy affair, despite the high skill of my best man. Cross me and you will wish the sweet rot killed you! The choice is yours. I leave you in genteel company, with fine food, rest, and leisure. But if you think to escape, you will walk the long miles to Ebertin barefoot, with the lash of a taskmaster at your back. Are we in agreement?” Gliedian asked.

“And if I play along, what becomes of my men?” Creigal replied.

“They are military men. If they are agreeable, they can join our army in Hof Hebrin, or one of our other operations. If they fight well, they will earn food, coin, and women...” Gliedian shrugged. “If they are troublesome, we will disembowel them and hang their corpses as examples to the other slaves.”

With that, Gliedian turned to Meriona. “If you’ll excuse me, we depart for Ebertin before the setting of the sun, and I have several matters to attend before we go.” The Baradha pulled a letter from his pocket and set it on the table in front of the senior Jay. Meriona set her hand on the letter and pulled it to herself. “With your permission, we take Alise and Karamina with us.”

“Me?!” Alise huffed. “I don’t want to go back to Ebertin! Take Celesi instead!”

“Celesi goes west. You know this,” Meriona told her. “Go pack!”

For a long second, Alise glared at Meriona. “Fine,” she hissed and slapped her fork against her plate.

Gliedian snorted. “I see the ladies prosper under your tutelage,” he chided, then stepped out the door.

As the Baradha left, Creigal turned and caught a glimpse of three familiar men. Banifourd, Garf, and Bence turned toward the duke. Garf flourished a mocking bow. Banifourd stared at Creigal with a scowl and fading bruises. Bence turned away, unwilling to look at his former master.

The door closed. Creigal felt sick. His head throbbed anew and suddenly he realized why. “Ladies,” he began, “I know it is frowned upon in the lands of the Empire, but since we are far from native Minist, might I ask a small favor?”

Meriona tilted her head, curious to hear what he might request.

“Might any of you possess fio?” Creigal asked. “Mind you, not the white sort used in Minist, but the green of the Trohls?”

The Jays instinctively turned to Celesi. The young Trohl blushed, though she knew not why. Before this moment, she’d never heard of the drug.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 16.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

“We got him!” the Saot hollered as he swaggered about with a half empty bottle of courage hanging from his hand. “We got him and now his hoity-toity highness is gonna swing by the neck!”

Despite his obnoxious behavior, the Saot was left to his own devices as he staggered about the Invader’s Fort. Word among the guards was to leave him be unless he caused any real trouble, which a few thought was possible, considering his increasing degree of inebriation. How uncivilized to get drunk without the proper oversight of the priesthood!

“I’ll be rich!” the Saot roared. “I’ll buy women like you by the dozen!” he leered at a passing priestess. “By the dozen!” he hollered as she hurried away, concerned and confused by his foreign tongue.

“He gon’ swing in the breeze,” the Saot muttered as he took a long swig from the bottle and staggered between storehouses. For several seconds he stared after the pretty Ministrian as she fled. “I’d like to swing in your breeze,” he thrust his hips at the priestess as she turned a corner and disappeared.

Once more, the man found himself alone in the growing darkness. For several seconds, he stared off at nothing in particular. Caught in his little thoughts, something struck the man in the back; a painful blow, just off his right shoulder.

“What the devil?!” The Saot winced. He glanced down as a small rock settled in the dirt. Something shifted above him and he looked up just in time to see another rock falling from the sky. The Saot dodged as the rock dropped into the dirt and rolled to a stop. For half a second he stared up into the heavens, until he caught another stone arching out of the shadows. Annoyed, he stepped aside. “You gonna put out my damn eye!” He roared as he pulled his sword from his belt. He had violence on his mind as he stepped toward the dark. He expected errant children that taunted their betters from the shadows. Once he got a hand on them, they’d be sorry for it! “Come on out!” He roared.

There was no reply from the shadows, and no more rocks dropped out of the sky. Slowly the Saot made his way forward. There was nothing there but the dark. There was nothing—until a shadow flashed forward! Big! Much bigger than a mere child!

Panic washed over the Saot as he realized he was in serious danger. He swung his sword in a swift arch at the unseen attacker. The shadow dodged back, reversed, and was within the Saot’s guard before he could swing his sword back around. A fist struck the Saot in the throat, and he gagged. He dropped his sword as an arm wrapped about his neck and cut off his air. The Saot crashed to the ground and landed heavily as he tried to swing his bottle at the attacker—but could do no harm. The arm about his neck continued to squeeze and the world faded to black as a familiar voice whispered in the Saot’s ear. “Goodbye, Bence.”

Bence knew the voice, and thought to call out in alarm—but Carringten continued to choke his former colleague. Slowly, Bence ceased his struggle as pain and panic dissolved into nothing.

Carringten held him tight for some time more, until he was sure there was no pulse. He stood, picked the dead guard’s sword off the ground, and pulled Bence’s lifeless body further into the shadows, leaving only the half empty bottle as witness to what had happened.

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