Chapter 8: Mourning

The men of the Pan Iskaer kept their distance as officers parlayed with Saleos and Duboha. Most of the Pan Iskaer were uninterested in the Jindleyaks and their foreign companions anyway. They poured around the group, intent on hunting Degorouth and Ministrians, now that they were allowed to do so.

Celesi looked up to see flames lick the sky where the House of Leaves once stood. A bare skeleton hung in the bright morning air, as Bouge commoners assembled several bucket lines to nearby wells. Men, women, and children battled to bring the fire under control, as the fire spread, in its unending quest for fuel. Slowly, the good people of Ebertin managed to wrangle the fire under control, all while keeping it from the greater part of the city.

As Celesi stared at the fire, one of the Pan Iskaer looked over the troop and spotted Wenifas. With a frown, he pointed and accused the priestess, "This one is a Ministrian," he said.

At his words, several of the Pan Iskaer turned, and approached to get a better look.

Celesi's terror and desperation boiled into a rage. She jumped at the accusing Pan Iskaer and struck him square on the chest with her balled fist. "You will not touch her!” she snapped at the man. “She is exiled! You hear me! She is no more a Ministrian, and you will not touch her!" Celesi struck the astonished man again and again, though her blows had little effect. The guard caught one hand and stared at her in surprise as he deflected and shrugged aside the remainder of her strikes. He was rather large compared to the fine-boned Jay and did not retaliate against her excessive but ineffective fury.

Toar caught Celesi's free arm and gently pulled her away from the Pan Iskaer guard. Aware that she caused trouble for her friends, she wrapped herself around Toar and sobbed away the remainder of her rage.

"Apologies," Duboha said to the militia man. "It's been a long night for the lady."

"Is it true? Is she exiled?" an officer of the Pan Iskaer asked.

Duboha gave a nod. "I heard it myself."

"Is it for her that the Ministrians attack you?" the officer continued.

Duboha shook his head. "No. We were present at the death of Kezodel. The Ministrians and their Degorouth allies seem to believe we had something to do with it—though I can assure you it was nothing more than a cosmic accident."

"You were at the death of Kezodel?” the officer asked, certainly interested in that momentous event. “I’ve heard such strange things. You must tell me what happened."

Duboha shrugged. "A meteor fell out of the sky, knocked a hole in the Grand Court, and crushed the Muaha in a tumble of stone. Everyone scattered and we walked out as nothing more than observers of the incident."

"Who can say we caused the meteor?" Saleos interjected. "This is not a thing men can do. Chance killed the beast—but we knew our enemies would blame us, and so we thought it best to leave the city. But we've been delayed. We were safe until last night, when they discovered us. They thought we slept, as they crept upon our house. They lit the house on fire, and we rushed away that we might escape. We hoped to make it to the wall... Now, we're here, and if it's all the same to you, we'd still like to be on our way," Saleos finished.

"And where would you go?"

Home," Saleos concluded. "Hearthstone."

Several captains of the Pan Iskaer spoke among themselves as a couple dozen of their militiamen looked on with weapons at the ready. The House still smoldered, and now a large crowd of commoners gathered about the group. The gathered officials of the Pan Iskaer smiled at Duboha and Saleos. "We think it is best if we escort you into the countryside," he said. "On the way, you can tell us the long version of your story."

"Before we go, we would like to collect the bodies of our fallen," Duboha stated.

"If one or two of you would like to stay behind,” the Pan Iskaer captain agreed, “but we think its best if most of you were out of the city as soon as possible."

With this business concluded, Scurra turned to Komotz. "What happened to Traust?" she asked, as they gathered their weapons off the ground and began for the city gate.

Komotz shook his head. "He is lost. We are lucky he is the only one."

"No," Scurra frowned. "Apulton caught an arrow and tumbled from the top of the house."

"Oh," Komotz frowned.

"What of your brother?" Scurra asked. "He appears injured."

Komotz shook his head. "I've looked at it,” he shrugged. “Very much like my brother, it is superficial. You know Homoth. He must be the best at everything. Why bleed a little, when he can bleed a lot?”

"How many of the enemy did we claim?" Scurra asked.

"Eight or nine on the ground. We injured at least that many more. Several will likely die," Komotz shrugged.

"We killed four from our perches," Scurra stated.

Andrus disagreed. "Ten at the very least," he cut in. "We might have killed twice as many."

Scurra snorted at the estimate. "We certainly hurt a good number. But I do not know if we killed more than six."

"How many were there?" Aim asked.

"At least twenty on the back side of the house," Scurra shrugged. "We were lucky. Those stuck at the front were slow to follow, thanks to their own fire."

"I think once they started the fires, they expected we'd come running out naked, unorganized, and easy to cut down," Komotz sneered. "I think it shocked them to see a dozen men crash out of the house in full battle gear at the very beginning of the flames."

"If so, their overconfidence was our greatest asset," Scurra shook her head. "Still, Apulton and Traust..."

"Its worse than that," Andrus noted. "Aim is missing—and Elpis with him."

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As they rushed from the House of Leaves, Aim lost his pole arm after he'd buried it in a Ministrian's ribs. The weapon got caught, and since he couldn’t also take the Ministrian with him—though he tried for about a block—he let the dying man keep it.

After that, he pulled his long sword to fight his way clear, but also lost that weapon when he threw it at a fleeing Degorouth. The hilt hit the man and knocked him to the ground. He was slow getting up, and so Aim let him go. Besides, Aim wanted to go a different direction, and charged after another Degorouth. This much smaller man just saw the giant Jindelyak militiaman take apart two of his friends. With fear in his eyes, the Degorouth took the prudent course. He turned heel, and ran.

Aim chased a half dozen steps, but with Elpis on his shoulder, he was quickly outpaced. He let the man go, and as he turned, he discovered he’d lost the others.

With a frown on his face, Aim stood and listened to the mayhem of the night. There was fighting a few streets over and people called all about—though he didn’t recognize any of their voices. Lights burned in too many windows.

The city woke.

Most took note of the burning House of Leaves and turned to battle the blaze, before it crept into the city and threatened everything, while others called the local militias to arms—most notably the Pan Iskaer.

Aim stepped into a larger street and found several armed Bouge stared him down. Their eyes narrowed to slits as they spread about, ready to fight. "You ain’t no Pan Iskaer,” one of them noted. “You Degorouth?” the stranger sneered the word.

Aim shook his head. “I belong to the Oak and Beast,” he answered. He held up his hands to show he had no weapons—though he still had several on his hips. He wore a doltish mask, as if he was as dumb as he was big—a misconception many people made—while he prepared to fight the lot of ‘em.

“Oak and Beast?” one of the men asked his friends. The other two shrugged unfamiliar with the group. He turned back on Aim and pointed his sword. “These streets belong to the Pan Iskaer, so clear out or be arrested, you rube!" the armed man ordered, as he ran past. Then turned, and called back, "Unless you care to hunt Ministrians!"

Aim shook his head as he watched them go. Although he liked the idea of hunting a few more of his enemies, he’d had his fill and wanted to find his friends instead. He resettled Elpis on his shoulder, turned back the way he thought his friends should be, and stepped through the streets.

It wasn’t long before Aim came across a crowd gathered around his friends. Most of them were simply curious bystanders—but there was a thick ring of armed men that held his friends captive.

Aim slowly approached and watched as Duboha and Saleos pleaded their case to the Pan Iskaer officers. There were far too many Pan Iskaer to fight—but if they tried to hurt his friends, Aim figured he could cut down half a dozen before they realized their mistake.

Still, it was the Pan Iskaer militia, and Aim knew them to be a level headed bunch. They had little love for Kezodel and his Ministrian allies. Likely, they’d imposed themselves simply to end the hostilities, and both the Oak and Beast and their Degorouth adversaries would only be escorted out of Pan Iskaer territory and told to behave if they dare return. Aim was not surprised when his friends slowly gathered their weapons and began toward the nearest city gate under the escort of several dozen Pan Iskaer. His various friends and associations made their way to the gate as Aim made note of their various injuries. He was pleased to see them in relatively good shape, despite the lack of Traust and Apulton. A frown twisted Aim’s face. He’d seen how Traust fell, but could only wonder about his other cousin.

Gossip traveled faster than the Jindleyaks as they slowly marched through the crowd. More and more Pan Iskaer gathered about his friends, who were now ringed by perhaps a hundred, with more Pan Iskaer in the crowd, as they studied those gathered with menacing stares. The Pan Iskaer were certainly out in force, Aim noted.

As Aim followed his friends, he realized he was not the only one that took an interest in their departure. Among so many others, he caught sight of a strange woman with striking red hair and a suspiciously familiar look. Aim wondered if he recognized her because she was one of many spies sniffed out by Apulton. Whoever she was, he’d certainly seen her before. With the woman was a young Ministrian boy that often held her hand. They only spoke Ministrian—which is to say the boy spoke Ministrian, while the strange lady with the pointy face didn’t speak at all. Aim glared at her and imagined the worst about her as he followed. He considered grabbing her from behind and squeezing the truth from her. He’d have to be careful if he decided to do such a thing. The Pan Iskaer were unlikely to let him assault anyone on their turf. He thought it best to just follow for now, and wait until they were a distance from the city—that is, if the lady continued to follow. He figured she must, or she was no spy at all, and he could simply let her go. He was not surprised that the lady followed past the city gates. He was not surprised that she followed mile after mile, as the Pan Iskaer led his friends further and further from town.

Aim kept his distance from his friends as well as the woman. He knew he was not inconspicuous, especially while he carried Elpis, but he knew a few tricks when it came to stalking a target. Then, when they finally arrived at a stable and his friends were given mounts to ride the rest of the way to The Copper Kettle and Rooms, Aim snuck up on the staring lady.

The boy turned first, frightened by the sheer stature of the man that glared at him and his escort. Then his face turned to confusion as he blinked stared at the wounded man on Aim’s shoulder. A look of recognition lit the boy's face. "Elpis?" he asked as he stared at the injured guard, and took a halting step forward. The boy turned to the strange woman and spoke to her Ministrian.

Confused to have his cousin identified, Aim took a step back. “Who are you?” he asked, though he had every reason to believe they would not understand him.

The boy simply stared at him, but the strange lady smiled as she took a step forward. There was something beguiling about her as he stared into her eyes. Not only did she seem to understand his question, but her gaze seemed to answer the big man’s words. She was a friend of the foreign priestess, and the boy was the priestess’s son. Well, it was easy enough to test such a claim—though it wasn’t spoken aloud. Aim waved his hands and called to his friends as they prepared to ride out.

Duboha beamed when he saw his good friend—but that was nothing compared to the squeals and excitement that erupted from the priestess when she saw her boy. She jumped from her horse so quickly and with such abandon that she nearly ended up face down in the dirt, only to right herself and rush at the boy, then gather him in a smothering hug, and also the strange lady, as she berated them both in her foreign tongue—all while she kissed them and stroked their hair…

Embarrassed, Aim turned to the others who smiled and laughed at his bewilderment.

As they rode out, Aim continued to stare at the strange silent woman with flame red hair. Andrus noticed his preoccupation and leaned close to his friend. “What is it?” He asked.

Aim shrugged. “She’s a strange one,” he began. “Weird, in the weirding ways—like the shaman,” he finished.

Andrus looked after the woman with a calculating stare. He glanced at Aim, and with a conspiratorial look, gave the giant a reassuring nod. He held two fingers to his eyes, then pointed them at the strange woman in a gesture that meant, I’ll watch.

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Baet found himself free of concern. Their escort was a good fifty men, thanks to an honor guard of Pan Iskaer. On top of that, local militia kept appearing about The Copper Kettle and Rooms to speak with the Pan Iskaer, and a bit with the Jindleyaks too.

Few if any of them bothered the foreigners at all, including the duke, which made Baet’s job easy, and helped sooth his nerves. Most of those that came to visit did not even look at the duke. They were far too interested in the shaman and how he predicted—or possibly caused—the death of Kezodel. They stood, enraptured by the strange story, and heaped praise upon the unsettled shaman. Krumpus blushed prudently and accepted the compliments in a graceful manner. Mostly, he tried to avoid the Jindelyak telling his story, and also those listening, though they occasionally cornered him, that they might shake his hand and wish him well.

The inn boasted several small pools all fed by a hot spring. Baet sat in the heat of the water, and occasionally shifted to one of the warmer or cooler pools, depending on how he felt. The sun dipped in the west as he rested his eyes. Soon, it would be dark, and Baet would take the first watch with Homoth and Komotz once more—but he had a good hour before he must worry of such things.

A shadow crossed over the undressed man-at-arms and caused Baet to jump. He reached for the sword he kept with his towel, only to relax as he realized who it was that stood over him. "Silent as the night," Baet noted as he smiled up at his captain.

"Apologies," Carringten smiled back. "Saleos and Andrus have returned from Ebertin with the bodies of Apulton and Traust. They mean to light a fire. They mean to mourn their friends."

"Ahh," Baet bowed his head. "The others have gathered?"

"Mostly," Carringten answered. "They'll light the fire as the sun sets. For now, they gather wood. By the looks of it, they mean to have a bonfire."

Baet gave a nod and decided to relax a little longer. "I shall miss this pool when we leave."

"Then you will be happy to know that our friends mean to stay another day,” Carringten said. “Elpis is still quite weak, and I think everyone is a bit weary."

Baet nodded emphatically. "It's been a long couple months since we left home. I don't know about you, but for me the tiredness goes to the bone," he stared up at his captain. "Do you think we'll go home any time soon? Or does our master still mean to search for the thief?"

"Do you prefer one over the other?" Carringten asked.

"I should very much like to go home," Baet nodded. "I should have liked not to leave," he shrugged.

"You did not have to come," Carringten replied with a quizzical eye.

Baet felt a tinge of guilt as he remembered why he came, and how the whole fiasco started in the first place. He tried to hide his guilt as he looked up at his captain. "I am honored to guard the duke," he said. "And the pay is well worth the trouble."

"And when we get to Hearthstone, who is to say we will find Humbert at all?" Carringten asked. “Who is to say he has not lost himself on the road, to brigands, or sickness, or some other calamity?”

"And who is to say we won't find him running further afield? Perhaps for Grimgoar territory, or even New Tallia? Indeed, who is to say he hasn't come west and lost himself somewhere in Ebertin?"" Baet noted.

Carringten shrugged. "It is impossible to know. For now, leave the uncertain where it belongs: in the unknowable future.”

Baet agreed, "It does not matter. The duke will say what he wants, and I will do as he says. I will serve as I always have."

Carringten turned and looked off in the distance. "Tomorrow, you go with Saleos and some of the others to get supplies. When you return, you are free to do as you please until the evening watch."

Baet gave a nod. “And tonight, I mourn our lost friends.”

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Everyone gathered about the giant bonfire including a sedate and woozy Elpis and a wide-eyed Evereste. The flames licked higher and higher into the fading darkness as sparks rose to mingle with the first of the night's stars. The various members of the Oak and Beast stared into the flames of the fire as they remembered their friends, a morose and somber lot.

"I grew up with Apulton. We used to swim the waters of the Heartflow together. I learned to hunt with him," Komotz said with tears in his eyes.

"Nine years I served with Traust," Duboha stated in a flat tone. "I've never known a better man."

"There is nothing but darkness," Andrus mused.

“It is a shame," Aim noted. "It is a shame indeed."

The mood became increasingly despondent and sullen as the Jindleyak drank and spoke of their friends in snippets, with sullen respect. As they continued, Creigal's mood became increasingly dark. After a short time, there was something of a scowl upon his lips. For nearly an hour, the duke stayed quiet as the others mourned their losses, so it surprised everyone—except Carringten and Baet—when the duke stepped on the trunk of a fallen tree and looked about the group with a commanding eye. He meant to deliver speech the only way he knew how: in a grand fashion.

Creigal waited for the others to be quiet, then began slow, and with a low voice. "I barely knew them—your brothers. We met only a few days ago. I was to be hanged for sins I did not commit. I thought myself a dead man," the duke said as he looked about the gathered crowd. "Despite the charges against me, Traust extended a hand and offered to escort me to safety. Like the rest of you, Apulton was agreeable, and when push came to shove, he put his life on the line," he hanged his head. "Now the deal is done. We have paid our enemies tit for tat, and my loyalty is bought with the most precious coin: life's blood.”

“But these are not all the men that have died of late,” Creigal stared about the gathered Jindleyak militiamen. “My men in Wibbeley died that I might live: Vearing, Marik, Edderfeld, Barkaloe, Haddelton. These are not names you know, but they were loyal to me. I have not had the time to mourn them proper. I have not had the opportunity to comfort their grieving families. I hope they forgive me for such short shrift.” Tears swelled in his eyes. "One day, nature will take us all, righteous and wicked alike! She gave us life, and one day she will claim each and every one of us! You and I are but food for worms!” he looked up. “Our friends go before us, into the great beyond, settled in the deep dark earth! But I celebrate what they have bought with their blood, for they have bought our lives, our hopes, our ambitions—and I will not go lightly to my death!” Now he scowled as he stared at his various companions, “We do not honor the dead by following a deadening path! We honor them by living full and courageous lives! We honor them by clinging to our values, tooth and nail! On their graves, I swear I will be a boon to my friends and allies, and I will be a terror in the face of my enemies! I will cling to life and do all that I can for all that I love!" He lifted his arms and turned his face to the sky. "Abra, receive the spirits of our fallen friends! Remind them of our love! Do not let them be forgotten! One day, the earth will claim us all, and that day we shall know our friends once more—but until that day, we must live! We must live lives worthy of the price they paid! Let them smile upon us and be proud of what their sacrifice bought!" A beat passed as Creigal finished his speech. He turned and sat once more as a call went up among the Jindleyak.

"They are not forgotten!" Andrus said.

"Let us be worthy of the sacrifice!" Toar said in reply.

"Praise Jeiju!" Homoth shouted.

"Praise Jeiju!" others repeated.

"Praise Jeiju."

"Praise indeed."

The men crowded about Creigal, patted him on the back, hugged him, and thanked him for his kind words. Several of their eyes were wet with remembering.

Krumpus began to hum a song. It was a song of mourning, a piece to memorialize the Broken Legions, that protected millions of refugees as they ran from the hordes of Old Tallia's enemies. These people suffered greatly on their march, hounded and hunted for hundreds of miles across the Great Plains of Tallia, with only the 'traitors' Tronde and Rigel and their 'criminal' men to protect them. Some scholars reckoned as many as half of the refugees that fled ancient Tallia died on their harried march—some in battle, some of fatigue, some of sickness, some of hopelessness.

Yet, so many lived, and in the mountains of the Bunderhilt, the survivors of Old Tallia found a people, warm and welcoming. The song proceeded without word, yet took on a joyous tone as it turned to the mingling of the Yak and Tallian peoples. The various tribes of the Yak took in the beleaguered survivors and helped them establish themselves. They gave freely of their surplus, and shared vital stores and stocks. They saved so very many those first few months—and the Tallian refugees were thankful for such kind treatment. The Yak and Tallians found each others customs to be rich and endearing. There was much knowledge and wisdom shared between them.

After a few short years, the Yak and Tallians called themselves a new people, and the nine nations of the Trohl were born. Smiles overcame the company as the glad sound of the shaman continued. Others took up the song and filled the air with the words of the song.

Wenifas thought of Derris. She did not sing. She did not know the words—but she knew rhythm. Music was sacred to Ministrians, and dance was one of the primary ways that the people worshiped. Despite her tears, Wenifas stood and began to stir. Tonight, dance would also be the way she mourned her lost love. The movements came naturally as Wenifas weaved and snaked around the bonfire. As the song shifted and became joyous, Wenifas allowed her expression to shift with it, though it belied her devastation and grief—though it countered the tears that streamed from her eyes. The men stared and clapped to cheer her on.

Celesi joined in, trained in the ways of Minist and knowing the dance that Wenifas performed. Although she mourned with the rest of them, Celesi felt boisterous. She was free, thank the gods, she was free! And she had a man to impress! Her dance took on a seductive edge as she lingered near Toar.

Meu followed their lead as she very much loved to dance. Her serpentine nature was wise to the fluid shift of song, and she performed well. Scurra joined too, though she was a novice compared to the others. Still, she managed to keep time just fine, and was a beauty in her own right. Indeed, Scurra received the loudest applause as she stood to join the other women. In comparison, her steps were simple—but the Jindleyak men cheered and whistled to see her move in such a womanly manner. They knew her to be a tomboy and were most surprised by her feminine steps. Indeed, several would have guessed she never bothered to learn any dance at all.

The song shifted in pitch and tempo. Several men joined the dance. For some time, much of the party weaved and carried on in a circle about the bonfire. Evereste sat cradled in Elpis' lap as the little girl bobbed with the rhythm. Elpis clapped and smiled a weary smile as he held the young babe and stared after the others with his one good eye.

Baet found himself dancing with Wenifas. It happened by accident, though he was glad when he noticed. He stared at the priestess as she stepped, bounced, and waved all about. She was beautiful in an exotic way, her dress and features so very foreign, as were her manners and attitudes. She was a vision despite the tears that streaked her face. Baet stopped in his step as he remembered he might be the cause of her mourning. He stared at the woman before him and wondered if there was any way he might possibly win her heart.

Wenifas did not notice Baet—until he stood still. He was just another man, and he could never be the one she cared for. Then, as he stood, she noticed. His face was stained with grief of his own, and an obvious longing. But she ignored the man's emotions and saw only the face that killed Derris. Her anger flared and she was unable to continue in her fluid step. She swayed to a stop and stared at the man with murderous intent in her eyes.

Now that he had her full attention, Baet collapsed to his knees. He took the priestess by her hand and pressed it to his forehead. After the heartfelt speech of his duke and the emotional song and dance, he felt the keen sting of his own betrayals and shortcomings. Baet offered no defense. He simply shrugged as he kept his eyes locked on Wenifas.

The free hand of the priestess shot out and caught Baet's cheek with a resounding slap. Stunned by the force of the blow, everyone turned to the odd couple. There was no sound except the crackle of the fire. Baet made no move, only touched his stinging cheek as he stared wide eyed at the priestess.

Rage surged through Wenifas as she glared at the Saot guard. Having broke the peace, Wenifas screamed and lunged at Baet. “Die!” she screamed, as she struck him again and again. She knocked him to the ground and continued to scream her fury as she lashed out at him.

Baet curled into a ball and took the punishment. Wenifas was not terribly strong, and despite her eagerness to do damage, her bare hands were not up to the task. Then, Wenifas spotted the knife on Baet's belt. She yanked it from the sheath and swept her hand back. She aimed the blade and would have killed the man—if not for the fast actions of Scurra. Scurra caught her arm and held it. She stared at the priestess, shocked that the Ministrian might try to kill.

Wenifas turned on Scurra with a scowl.

"No," Scurra said to the priestess, her voice calm but authoritative.

"Let me do it!" Wenifas roared. She turned and tried to strike the Trohl woman.

Scurra deflected the blow and twisted the knife out the priestess's hand. Then, having disarmed the woman, Scurra picked the dagger from off the ground as she continued to block Baet from Wenifas.

Wenifas screamed and bawled as Meu and Celesi pressed in on her. Wenifas crumbled into her friends’ waiting arms. Slowly, the three stepped from the crowd. The others stared in shock as the women disappeared toward their cabin.

With Wenifas gone, Scurra turned to Baet. He looked up at her with shock on his face. Scurra frowned and shook her head as she too stepped away from the man-at-arms. Embarrassed, Baet sloughed off and decided to wade in the pools of warm water once more.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 8.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Tehris gives Meriona four throat-cutters to kill Creigal.

Polished the chapter. Moved Gliedian and Meriona speaking to chapter 4. Need to work out Tehris and Meriona speaking, and have him give her the four throat-cutters…(?) Not a 100% sure what I’m doing just yet… It’ll work out. 2020/02/19