Chapter 9: Eyes All About

The mood of solemn reverence was broken after the fracas between Baet and Wenifas, and Creigal took the opportunity to slip away. As he disappeared from the light of the fire, Carringten appeared at his elbow. Creigal smiled at his bodyguard. "Quite the speech," Carringten assured him as they moved away from the large fire.

Creigal nodded. "I spoke from my heart."

Carringten nodded. "I appreciate your words for my fallen brothers. I believe Baet feels the same—though he has a peculiar way of showing it,” he shrugged. “Our new friends are quite taken.”

Normally, Creigal was quite happy to hear Carringten’s pragmatic—though often dry commentaries, but tonight he was uninterested. He turned to the guard and stopped him with an arm on his shoulder. "I thank you for your candid evaluation, my friend, but might I be alone with my thoughts for a while? I do not feel any danger around us, and it has been such a long time since I have been alone in the world."

Carringten stopped in his tracks and gave a bow. "Yes, my liege," he said. "If there is need, I shall be among our friends."

"I thank you," Creigal smiled and watched as Carringten turned and disappeared back toward the fire. Creigal turned and walked to the edge of the river and continued along its bank. He checked to see if Carringten followed, and although he saw no trace of the bodyguard, he knew the man might easily stalk nearby. Creigal decided it was enough. Whether he was alone, or simply thought he was alone, there was little difference. Both ways he was quite alone in his thoughts—thoughts of his daughter, thoughts of a thief, thoughts of his sons, his duchy, and people. There was certainly enough to think about.

Being so far from home, Creigal knew it could do no good to worry over the duchy—and yet he could not put it aside. His ministers were good and capable men, and one day the duchy would be in their hands alone. He only hoped the people did not feel abandoned, or that his sons might somehow take power. He cared nothing for his boys, whom were disinherited after it was proved they killed their sister.

Oh, Daphne...

Instead, the Duchy would fall to his nephew, Varius; a solid and weighty diplomat with a serious demeanor and outlook— and very much one of Creigal’s inner council. The arrangement was suitable and the duchy would prosper, the gods willing—but there was no passion in it for Creigal; just cold, bitter calculation.

Perhaps that is how passion and sentimentality could send him raging after his daughter's necklace with the thief’s accomplice in tow; preparing to teach him a lesson…

…and as they traipsed across an unknown land, not a poisoning, an attempted assassination, or the threat of hanging could give him pause. There was nothing he wanted aside from his daughter's necklace. Why should think he might lose her? She was already gone. He was already in irredeemable debt. Nothing could bring her back.

Yet, the endless dreams of her spurred him on. Indeed, he was more adamant than ever about finding Humbert and retrieving the trinket—if such a thing was still possible. What were the chances he might find the thief's trail when he should finally arrive in Land's End? More than likely, he should return home and resume his duties, his heart cold and calculating once more. He loved his people, but it was a passionless love struck from a sense of duty and honor. In all honesty, he wanted to be free of it. He preferred the open road. He preferred the company of these kind strangers, and their ambivalence to his status. And what if he should die in the wilds, so far from home? He was not eager for death—but unlike many of his Baradha cousins, he did not cling to the vain struggle for immortality.

As if such a thing were even desirable. Creigal had met some of the long lived; those that managed two, three, even four hundred years. He did not envy their tortured and frail forms, and especially not the unending cruelty necessary to maintain it. They robbed the most innocent of their youth and vitality. Selfish and resentful, their lives were no boon to their peoples. Indeed, they were the cancer that sucked at the very marrow of society; a creeping sickness that threatened to destroy the Empire from within, and with such a perfection that nothing would remain. Creigal was convinced of this, though he imagined it'd be years, decades, likely centuries or millennia before the empire might finally implode under the weight of their ‘exalted masters'.

Of course there were also such men among the Saot—but they were not so accomplished. Too much of their evil science was stolen or corrupted so very long ago by the sabotage and betrayal of the dark prince, Lasitus—a fact that saw the political class subsume itself to the Ministrian elite, and thereby made the Saot Kingdom little more than a vassal state. With the best of the Kingdom’s grammars and magic artifacts in tow, Lasitus evaded and destroyed all pursuit as he fled north into the Bunderhilt. What were the chances that warlock still survived somewhere among these mountains, toiling away at his dark arts, his frail and empty form somehow clinging to a mock version of life?

Creigal stared up at the sky. He tracked the children of the broken moon and tried not to think of such vicious things. It was important to remember the low character of his enemies—but it was also important that he did not dwell on it. Indeed, he thought his study of the subject so many years ago only helped turn his sons to the dark path. While he was horrified and dismayed, they were fascinated and engrossed. It was their choice to continue down the easy path, the selfish path, the destructive path, and they did so despite their father’s best efforts to turn them back.

With a heavy sigh, Creigal turned from the sky and stared out over the river. He skipped stones across the silent water as far as they might go, and told himself he'd think no more about the duchy.

Plock, plock, plock.

Who was to say everything wouldn't turn out for the best? Who was to say he wouldn’t return home to find Gaurring as strong and stable as ever? Let the people continue on without him for a time! For such effort, they'd be less dependent and more free than before.

Creigal smiled to have such bright thoughts crowd his mind as he continued to picked stones and skip them across the water.

Plock, plock, plock.

For a time, he thought about nothing, nothing at all, as he stared across the rippling surface, throwing another rock, then, after a pause, another, and another.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Back at the bonfire, Baet felt embarrassed by the episode with Wenifas and begged off, that he might go soak in the hot springs for a while more before standing guard. Carringten sat with the others for a time, then decided to join Baet, that he might cheer the sulking guard.

“Seems our new friends are not all friends at all,” Komotz said to his brother as the Soat and Borz cleared the circle.

“Perhaps they are jaded lovers,” Homoth began. “IU should not be surprised. Don’t you see the way the Saot stares at her?” Since the brothers understood only a bit of Ministrian, and mostly curse words at that, they missed much of what happened among the foreigners.

Despite his hesitation to talk of other people’s business, Toar thought it might be best to straighten out the brothers. They’d get it from their Jindleyak friends if they really cared to hear it anyway, and he felt if he told the story, at least he could be sure it was told with care and concern. “The lot of us have not known each other for very long. Indeed, it is the depth of our friendship that keeps us together, and not any great length,” he shook his head as he began. “I have known the Saots for less than a month, and I’ve known the priestess and her companions for less." Then, he told the tale of how he met Creigal and his men-at-arms. He spoke of the bugbear attack on the Camp and Fort, and how the three of them overpowered and killed the guard, Derris, that they might escape. "He attacked Carringten," Toar shrugged as he defended their violence. "And if we had not escaped, the bugbear likely would have slaughtered us, and eaten our corpses. It is regrettable that a man had to die, but the worst of it was the timing. The priestess came around the corner as we overpowered the guard, and where we saw a foe, she saw a lover.” He shook his head with regret. “We all saw him die."

That brought a low whistle and several curious eyebrows from the men of the Oak and Beast.

"It seems she hates him the most," Homoth noted.

"Baet drove the knife," Toar shrugged. "Indeed, this is not even the first time she's tried to kill us. The very night we escaped, she shot at us with his musket."

The brothers stared at the man, then turned to themselves in question. "If she hates you all so much, why did she not stay with her people in Falderfallen Hovey?" Homoth finally asked.

“For her own reasons, she accompanied us to Kezodel’s court,” Toar shrugged. “Then, as everything unraveled, the Jay banished her because the priestess refused to relinquish her guards to the Jay.”

Komotz frowned. “Seems a silly reason for such bad blood.”

Celesi had returned halfway through this tale. She sidled up to Toar and beamed at the young Bouge as he told his half of the tale. Now that he faltered and could go no further with the story, she thought to fill him. For a split second, she thought she should keep her silence and protect the priestess—but as she stared at Toar, she decided to tell what she knew. "Meriona promised Wenifas that she'd see the lot of you hanged by Kezodel and his court," she began. “But thankfully that all fell apart.”

"She meant to see us hanged?" Toar cut in, surprised by the assertion. "That sneaky cuss…" He began as he stared daggers at the absent priestess.

Celesi nodded and cut in before he could call Wenifas more names. "Meriona would have done it too—but she also meant to betray her. The Jay is petty and vengeful. She was indeed mad at the priestess for not turning over control of the guards as we marched the long road.”

“Well, that does it,” Toar began. “We must tell the others and cut her loose. We do not need such a devious Ministrian among us.”

“You killed her man, but cannot forgive her for trying to return the favor?” Celesi shook her head. “Since court, she has caused us no issue—until tonight. And you cannot blame her. Did you not see the way Baet antagonized her as she was deep in her feels?”

“We never tried to hurt her,” Toar asserted. “All that time on the road, and she still harbors her hatred?”

“All that time!” Celesi huffed. “A pittance of days!”

“And you think we should simply forgive her, to allow her along” Toar asked. “What is to stop her from turning on us at her earliest convenience?”

Celesi scoffed and replied, “Then we must turn her away! Among foreigners! That you and your duke might be safe from the dangers of an exiled and toothless woman! Oh! And her children!” she exaggerated. “We must be especially scared of the littler one. She only seems so innocent!”

Toar frowned, stung by her sarcasm. “That is not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Celesi said. “You mean to turn her away, because she planned for revenge, back when revenge was in the cards!”

“Exactly,” Toar noted.

'“Exactly nothing!” Celesi screamed. “It did not happen, and you are safe! You did not care before I revealed the whole truth—and now you act as if you are mortally wounded! Can you not leave the past in the past?!”

As the two stared, upset and disappointed with each other, Saleos stood and interjected. “Little in the world is ever simple,” he began. “And since the priestess has done nothing else to jeopardize us, I say we let her continue in our company.”

Celesi turned on the militiaman, “And what if the Saot lord should say otherwise?”

“Is it his decision to make?” Saleos replied. “And what if the shaman should say otherwise? What will Duboha say on the subject?” He shook his head. “If she does not like the duke’s guards, then she shall not have to interact with them, and if the duke’s men do not like the priestess, they do not have to interact with her either.”

Toar could not fault the Jindleyak’s logic, and so he nodded.

“Fine,” Celesi agreed as she refused to look at Toar. She was upset mostly because Toar was upset. Oh, how she wanted him to drop this silly spat and be pleased to have the whole story!

But he was not. “Fine,” Toar agreed. “You can watch her,” he needled the apprentice. “At least she likes you—or so it seems."

"And I like her too," Celesi said. “She might like you too, if perhaps you simply apologized.”

“As if it is such a simple thing,” Toar, began, incredulous. “Tell me, how do you go about apologizing for killing someone?”

“With words,” Celesi snipped.

Andrus snorted. He felt this spat was mostly just more flirting, and hated to see it, so he diplomatically attempted to return them to an earlier part of their story. "And all of this occurred as the bugbear warred?"

"That's how it started,” Celesi answered, and Toar nodded. “Unlike Wenifas, I owe my life to Toar, Baet, and Carringten—and so does Meriona, the ingrate. We were ambushed by bugbear, and they rescued us."

"Saleos fought bugbear,” Komotz interjected. “In Salyst."

Toar stared wide-eyed at Saleos. He was obsessed with Salyst. "You must tell us," he begged.

Saleos shook his head. "After you have finished."

"But that is the end of it," Toar explained. "We escaped the bugbear and marched for Ebertin. We came across Wenifas, the shaman, and her train of survivors. She could not deny us since we traveled with the Jay. Then we left the bulk behind at Falderfallen’s Hovey, continued to the big city where we met you in Kezodel's chambers," Toar shrugged. "And we have talked too much of what happened there…”

The others agreed.

“Tell us,” Celesi pleaded. “Tell us of Salyst, and distract us from our own petty animosities."

Saleos could not disagree, so he acquiesced. "It was a long time ago, some twenty years," he began. "A war of bugbear stormed out of the Cloud Mountains and fell upon the villages, farmlands, mines—the inhabited country surrounding the city. The bugbear continued their assault for the better part of a week, marauding and ravaging. They did not real harm to the city, but those in the lands about were as much Salystians as those in the city. Having caused their havoc, the bugbear slunk back to their warrens, fattened with blood and treasure, and properly thinned in number.”

"Bugbear make the worst sort of neighbor," Duboha noted.

"After the war ended, the militias decided they could not leave the vermin to proliferate,” Saleos continued. “All agreed if they did nothing, the buggers would simply war again in a couple decades, so they decided to push the beasts to the other side of the Cloud Mountains, if they would not be eradicated.

“For a year and a half, the Salystians chased the beasts along the mountainous ridges, and through several long canyons,” Saleos said. “We wore thick leathers with interwoven chain, gloves, and full masks to defend against the bugbear poisons and traps. We chased the bugbear through thickets of needle thorn, poison sycamore, and the ever-present strangle vine. I joined the campaign a year after it started, arriving in Salyst, looking for glory and adventure. I found no end of blood and hardship. I got a crash course in the treatment of numerous poisons, toxins, venoms; and also underground fighting.

“By the time I arrived, the deadliest of the bugbear poisons were in short supply—but we still saw them all from time to time,” Saleos stated. “For me, it was a rare thing to see a man get stuck with a dart only to drop dead in seconds. For me, the poisons were slow and vicious—but often curable. We took numerous measures to protect ourselves, and when some inevitably got stung, we worked hard to cure those inflicted."

"Did you encounter rot root?" Toar asked.

Saleos nodded. "They make it from the root of the strangle vine and never suffer a shortage. The beasts grow massive thickets of the stuff. They make their warrens among it. It is tough to cut, and dulled our blades to no end.I got it once myself, and thankfully just the once." He rolled up his sleeve and revealed a webbed scar—a mere pittance compared to those worn by the duke and Toar himself—but impressive nonetheless.

"I caught the rot several years back," Toar admitted. "The duke had it most recently. Someone at the camp healed him, though we never did meet the man. Not even the duke knows who healed him. Indeed, his recovery was remarkably quick. I wish I knew who did it, and how," Toar continued. "The duke had the rot for over a week. The cure could not have been easy. The Minist surgeons refused to even try…" He remembered the surgeons meant to turn him over to a native healer. Suddenly suspicious, he turned to Krumpus with a questioning eye.

Not wanting more attention, Krumpus shrugged and played coy, though the younger Trohl continued to stare at him from time to time.

Saleos whistled. "A week is an awful long time to have the rot. Our men never suffered it for more than a day before their treatments began. Indeed, I am quite adept at treating rot root after the fashion of the Salystians. If you caught it right now, I could have you fully healed in two days.”

"Enough of your medicines!" Komotz cut in. He turned to Saleos. "We wish to hear more of the bugger war!"

Homoth and Aim agreed, and as Toar was also interested in that part of the tale, Saleos acquiesced. "It was a slow and persistent grind to chase the bugbear from their warrens. If you know buggers at all, you know they are talented diggers and devious trappers. Many fled across the mountains—but it seemed an equal amount stayed behind and fought to the last. Every bull, bitch, and pup we came across fought tooth and nail.

“The Salystians were also quite persistent and eventually killed every bugger that refused to flee north—though the victory was short lived," Saleos concluded. "The Ministrians began their infernal work as the bugger war ended, and a few short years later, they managed to clear out the Salystians in a fashion similar to the way we’d cleared out the bugbear. Once the people were gone, the Ministrians left the ruins, and the city became a haven for its enemies, the bugbear," he shrugged.

"We should have seen it coming,” Saleos shrugged. “As the bugger war ended, Ministrians began to appear and speak of trade. They overpaid for everything and quickly began to involve themselves in local politics. They were a disruption from the beginning—but the militias were focused on the bugger problem. I was still in Salyst when Minist began her work in earnest. The situation deteriorated quickly. Realizing there were so few Salystians, they razed the countryside and sieged the city. Many of the Bouge militias that came to help were bribed to remain neutral, and those that refused Ministrian blood money were slaughtered as they approached," Saleos shrugged. "Once I heard rumors of an exodus across the Red Desert, I realized I had to make a choice: chance it with the Salystians and go with them into the wilds, or sneak east and go back home to see my family. Though it was uncharacteristic of me, I decided to go home," he finished.

"What was it like among the Salystians?" Toar asked.

"They were nice people," Saleos shrugged. They are quite like the other Trohl races, though they are almost completely of Yakkish decent. While the other tribes welcomed the Tallian refugees with open arms, Salyst remained cool and distant. Some few Tallians settled among the people as they were not totally heartless—but these Tallians were forced to forgo their own customs and adopt the ways of the Yak. For this reason, they are quite different from the other Trohl tribes."

"It is said they possessed old magics and lost wisdom," Toar stated.

A knowing smile overcame Saleos. "Secrets and talents like no other?" He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and everyone leaned in as he whispered among the group. "Powers beyond your wildest imagination?"

Toar nodded.

Saleos shook his head and leaned back. "Although we certainly lost a heavy measure of goodness when we lost Salyst, they possessed no special magics or talents that might make them the envy of the world," he shrugged. "I will say they baked a good number of delicious pastries unequaled by anything I've had before or since."

Toar frowned. "You mock their memory!" He accused.

Saleos shook his head. "I most certainly do not. I knew a good number of them personally, and despite my undying affection, I will not pretend they are more than plain men and women with common failings, just as you will find in most quarters of world. Besides, if they were such powerful and talented magicians, why could they not repel the armies of Minist?"

Toar glared at the man as he measured his words. Though he did not like what the old man said, he could not fault the evaluation.

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Finally, Duboha prodded Saleos to continue his story. "That is not where it ended for you,” Duboha began as he stared at his fellow militiaman. “After Salyst, you went to Saot lands. Indeed, you were a post runner for their king," he prompted.

Salyst nodded. "First, I went to Hearthstone, where I studied the Saot language among their traders."

"You know Saot?" Toar asked. "But you never speak it with the duke, or the others?"

Saleos shrugged. "There was no reason. They speak Ministrian, and we speak Ministrian—all but the brothers..." He waved at Homoth and Komotz.

"You spied," Toar accused.

"I simply never bothered to mention it," Saleos replied. "If it comforts you, I've heard nothing suspect from the duke or his men, not in any language."

Toar glared at the man for several more seconds, but since the others only snickered and grinned, including Celesi and Krumpus, Toar let it drop.

"Enough of such gossip! Tell us of your time in the Saot Kingdom," Komotz insisted.

"I went to Land's End, and followed opportunity to Solveny. I continued to learn Saot as I worked as a post runner for the Silver Service. The locals referred to us as 'the silver fish' as we wore thick chain mail coats burnished to a shine with no device or sign, aside from a simple pendant of the post. For over a decade I traveled throughout the Saot kingdom. Despite good pay, running post is a monotonous job. I grew bored and eventually left their ranks after I chanced upon a consortium of minor nobles that hoped to win favor with the Empress Seviticah. They had special charter from the king to solicit the empress, and since they wished to appear quite cosmopolitan, I joined their ranks as an advisor in Trohl affairs. Though I knew little of our politics at the time, I certainly knew more than these foreigners—so I made for Minist among their mixed company."

"Why would you meet with the Empress after what she did to Salyst?" Toar charged.

Saleos shrugged. "A love of travel is in my blood. I have no real interest in the Empire, but I thought I should like to see the country, that I might understand it for myself. Besides, I thought our request should be denied. After what happened in Salyst, I thought the empress would have no reason to back our efforts, and I thought this because I thought our efforts were noble. In the end, I was proved right. We did not even meet her, though we did see her from afar. Instead, we met far too many of her ministers. They were all quite eager to meet us, and even more eager to get away, once they heard our cause. Minist is ruled by a conniving and villainous lot that wants nothing to do with honest endeavors."

"The Baradha," Toar noted. "I've met some number of them when I worked in the house of Kezodel."

"Is that what they call themselves? They were quite tight lipped about the true form and function of the Empire," Saleos gave a shrug. "Although I enjoyed the opportunity to see Minist, it was not much to my liking. Trohls are not held in high regard, even when they travel in the company of noble Saots," Saleos shook his head. "Some of our cause returned to Danyan by boat, while the rest of us returned to the kingdom over land, through Wibbeley. From there my friends went south, and I came to Ebertin. Although I initially meant to go home once more, I chanced upon Traust, Duboha, and others among the Oak and Beast. They investigated the Bouge and tried to understand what had happened in far-off Salyst. I shared my insights, and since my intelligence proved useful, I was invited to swear an oath and take the colors.”

Toar stared at the older man, “You mean to say, you’re not a Jindleyak?”

“I'm Gramgoar by birth, though I've served the Oak and Beast longer than I ever served in any Gramgish militia—mostly because I never served in any Gromgish militia at all," Saleos shrugged and held his hands open. "Though I was born there, I was never one of that people. Indeed, the open road was more of a home than Gramgoar ever was, as I was born of unfortunate circumstance—but that is another story—and one I am not willing to tell just now," he finished with a bitter smile, hanged his head, and kicked at a small stone near his foot.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Although Meu slept between Claiten and Wenifas, she shivered as the night grew deep. Her dreams turned to the concerns of her waking life as she remembered her daughter and the new life she sought in the southlands—her quest before the shaman interrupted and detoured her travels. She thought she must not remain too long among these humans, though she hoped to stay with them a bit longer. She’d like to see the shaman’s home first. He’d promised her a fine roast, to meet his wife and kids, and he said it was only eight or nine days away—a dozen at most. It’d be nice to see his home, to relax for a bit, and to spend a few more days with her newfound, hard fought friends.

Still, she could not forget her daughter, especially after the night’s long dreams. So she shifted into her human form, crept from the cabin, and made for the edge of the woods. She stepped under the obliging boughs of a weeping willow, then shifted back into her serpent form, climbed the tree, and lit off over the forest. But she does not go unobserved.

Although none of the company expected any trouble, Andrus was out on guard duty, wandering the paths of the inn. Duboha and Toar were also about the inn—somewhere—keeping watch, perhaps dozing in a silent corner, but Andrus was awake and alert. He caught the faint creak of the door as Meu stepped from her cabin, then, because Aim made him suspicious, he followed her.

When Meu didn’t turn toward the privy, Andrus wondered what she might be about. He followed her out to the edge of the trees and watched as she slipped under the large weeping willow. He saw the shadows gather and slip about her as she shifted into the form of a winged serpent. Shocked to see such witchery, Andrus stared after Meu as she crawled up the branches of the tree, opened her wings, and flew toward the river. Amazed to have witnessed such a transformation, he stared long after the strange beast was gone, then muttered to himself, “…so that’s how it’s done...”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Oblarra rose over the waters of the river and cast the landscape in an eerie crimson light. Creigal sat and allowed his thoughts to wear themselves out as he stared over the sublime setting. He laid back in the shade of a maple, and thought only to rest for a bit.

A weariness overcame the duke. Sleep came quick.

Creigal suffered a strange vision as he laid next to the river. He had Aerindoun on a rack and stretched him for his crimes. His eldest stretched and screamed, and Creigal was pleased with the sound. Then the voice turned feminine.

Suddenly, it was no longer Aerindoun that Creigal tortured. It was his second child, Daphne, upon the rack. His heart lurched at the tortured sounds of his lost daughter. He undid the binds and gathered her weak form into his arms. Holding her close, he sobbed for his rough treatment and begged her forgiveness.

As they hugged, Daphne morphed into his third child, Samaraut. The boy was confused, as was often the case, and for some time the duke tried to make sense of his second son's ramblings—though there was little sense to be found.

Then the figure was Samaraut no more, but now the youngest in his place, Jeppith; the most devious and manic of the lot. Before Creigal could stop him, Jeppith pulled the dagger from his father’s belt and stabbed the duke in the stomach. Creigal gaped at the blood gushing between his knuckles. Jeppith stabbed him again and again, chortled as he did so; then danced and skipped away with the blade held high.

Creigal laid on the ground, his life slipping between his fingers. Blood pooled at his mouth. His vision blurred, and the world began to go numb. He was sure he would die.

Creigal woke with a fright and sat up in strange surroundings. It took the duke several seconds to remember where he was. He was surprised to find himself still outside, under the canopy of the large maple, next to the gentle flow of the river. It'd been some time since he'd slept out in the open, unprotected.

Weary and cautious, he thought he saw something disturb the water’s surface—but there was nothing more than a splash, nothing but a noteworthy fish; or so he presumed. The darkness of night was beginning to lift. It’d be morning soon. Slowly, Creigal sat against the trunk of the tree as he wondered at his strange dream. Somehow, he knew the wrath and suspicion he had for his sons had somehow poisoned the love of his daughter. Somehow he knew the best way to honor the memory of his daughter was to offer his sons forgiveness for their crimes—including Daphne’s murder.

Creigal found himself offended by his own musings. The thought of forgiving his sons was beyond repugnant! If not for them and their plotting, he'd still have his wonderful Daphne! In addition, they'd mocked their mother, his loving wife, as she grew sick and died. They celebrated the fact that there could be no more siblings to usurp their ambitions. That was the fealty and worthiness of his sons: they conspired and murdered their own sister, then danced on the grave of their mother, and finally mocked their father's loneliness. And he was to forgive them?! He would not do it! He could not do it! There was nothing the gods might offer—unless they should reunite him with the dead—he could not forgive his sons for their cruelty!

His spitting, sputtering rage was cut short as a sudden call broke through the woods and shattered the quiet. "ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!" Creigal nearly jumped out of his skin to hear it. He sat, and wondered that a mere rooster should shock him so—but he was in quite a strange state. He was lost, somewhere in Trohl lands, and thrice his life was saved by mere chance. He wondered how long his luck hold out.

"ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!" The cry of the rooster sounded again. He sat and waited, somehow sure the rooster would crow again. There was something in its tone that assured it—but alas, another call never came.

After a time, Creigal stood and began back toward the cabins of the inn.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Claiten was about to crow a third time when his mother’s voice caught him off guard. “What is this about?” Wenifas said. He turned to see her leaning against a wall, and staring at the boy with a pained and worried expression.

For several seconds, the two simply stared at each other. Then his mother turned suddenly, so she might heave and spill gross on the ground.

Worried to see her lose her dinner, Claiten ran to Wenifas and put a hand on her back. "You okay?" He asked with concern on his face.

"These native foods don't agree with me," Wenifas said as she offered her son a comforting smile—though she didn't think it was the food at all. Lately, she was nothing but nerves and anxiety. She was apprehensive about being in a new place, among people she barely knew, and customs she didn't understand. Tension was making her nauseous—but there was no reason to worry the boy with such adult concerns. “Everything will be fine,” she smiled, and tried to believe it herself. She had money and many good people around her—or so she hoped. She also suffered the company of men she despised—and one of them refused to stop staring at her. She'd known men like him before, men of an obsessive nature. She'd bedded men like him, despite their neediness. At that time, it was good coin.

Then again, Derris needed her after a fashion, especially at the end. Indeed, the one reminded her of the other, and that made her hate Baet all the more.

Wenifas shook her head and turned her attention back to her boy. She frowned. Lately, the boy spent too much time with Meu. She couldn't blame him. He refused to talk of what happened in Beletrain, though Wenifas got a sense of it from Meu; a dark and foreboding affair. Yet, Claiten seemed to be relatively unscathed. It was as good show, and it fooled the others, who were all genuine and kind to her child—but it did not fool his mother. Something bothered him. Something dark and sinister was still about him.

Grateful as she was, Wenifas was still mad at Meu for abandoning her in the first place—though she told herself to get over it. Indeed, there was too much to worry about, and it was eroding one of the few friends she truly trusted. All this worry made her stomach knot. She turned from her son and spilled more sick over the ground. "What are they feeding us?!" she complained as she wiped her mouth. She stared back at her boy and wondered if he could spot her lies as well as she could spot his. "Come here," Wenifas said, and wrapped Claiten in a hug. He hugged her back and she held him for several long seconds. "We're going to be fine," she claimed as her worries continued to play through her mind— then, despite her claim, she pushed her boy away and held him at arms length, so she could be sick one last time.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Creigal pushed through the woods. As he moved toward his cabin, he heard an odd song from the trees on a much lower register than he ever heard before.

He knew the song the same way he always knew what birds sang. Whatever this creature, she was far from family, and despite a promise to visit soon, it had a new covenant; a promise to see a friend safely settled. Only then would it return to its journey and see its daughter once more.

Intrigued by the strange song, Creigal searched the canopy. Although the bird had a great call and sounded like it was rather large, he could not spot the thing. As he crept among the trees on soft, slow feet, he finally saw something shifting in the trees high above. He had not seen it because it was long and thin and looked much like a branch. Indeed, it was not a bird at all, but a serpent. For a moment, he thought the serpent must be hunting whatever sang. For a moment, he thought to call out and spoil the hunt. At least he'd see the great bird as it flew away—but there was nothing else in the tree, just the giant serpent.

The song was over. The serpent leaned from its perch, and to Creigal's surprise, spread its own magnificent wings, tawny in color with red and green highlights. Creigal realized this was the creature that sang!

Yet, he understood it's song! He wondered if it more bird than serpent as the creature lifted into the air, turned a lazy circle over the tops of the trees, and flew toward the inn, unaware that Creigal watched its course.

Creigal followed after the creature. He did not know the greatest of his shocks was yet to come. Despite his rush, Creigal ran with little noise. He almost lost the creature as it drifted toward the inn and its outlying cabins. Finally, the beast landed among the boughs of an ancient willow. Creigal paused as the creature made its way down through the branches and to the ground. He thought it must have a nest in the grand tree, and watched to see if it might come crawling out. It did not.

Instead, Meu stepped from under the willow. She adjusted her slight sundress and Creigal stared at her as if seeing her for the very first time. Indeed, he'd seen very little of her since he was not with the others as they trekked from Camp Calderhal to Ebertin. He remembered her with the others in the court of Kezodel—but there was so much to attend, and he had not really seen her then, either. Again, she was absent from his company, until she appeared just the other day, with the boy Claiten in tow. Only now did he really see her. She was a vision to behold, svelte, defined, and with a knowing eye.

He wondered how well the others knew her. Did any of them know she was a skin-walker? He was not worried as he’d heard her son; a song of loving devotion, not only for her daughter—somewhere in lands south—but for her newfound friends. She was delayed as she’d promised to see a friend settled, and now he realized the song was about the priestess and her children. He liked her all the more for it.

As Creigal stared, Meu turned. Perhaps she sensed his eyes upon her. Whatever the cause, Meu stared directly at the duke. A curious smile crept at the edge of her lips. She raised her hand and beckoned the duke to come out of the trees. Entranced and very self-aware, Creigal stepped from his cover with a foolish grin glued to his face.

But their eyes were not the only ones about the trees. Indeed, there was another that followed the duke from the edge of the water; and it’d seen enough. The creature turned from the inn full of waking men, and slithered away, back to the water’s edge, then crawled into the river, sank to the bottom, and slipped through a submerged tunnel that led to a dry cave. Several other naga were there waiting for his return.

“I heard him, and I’ve seen the beast that guards him,” Maligno noted.

Golifett turned his full attention to his cousin.

“Twice he called,” Maligno continued. “Twice, and I saw him too, among a good number of men.”

Golifett frowned at his cousin. They both knew the significance of the boy crowing twice. Either he was interrupted and caused to stop, or the spell was slipping... Two days ago, when Golifett first heard the boy crow, it was only twice, which suggested the spell was slipping, and they’d only have his signal for a short time more. If the naga meant to have the boy, they’d have to act soon, or risk losing his trail altogether.

“And what of the beast?” Golifett asked.

“A serpent, long and narrow, with wings,” Maligno said. “But not merely a beast, for she is a skin-walker. She is thin and old for a human, with red hair…”

Golifett nodded. So the beast that ambushed him in his own home was the woman that led the boy away…

Another naga came through the tunnel that led to the river, and another. “We are a dozen strong,” Golifett noted as the new arrivals turned to the cousins. “They are injured, with a number of women and children among them,” he continued. “Once they are away from these others—for I believe they mean to be on the road—and once they are away, we will kill them. Then, their children and their gold will be ours,” he hissed, and the others cheered to hear it.

Polished 9.1 and 9.2 — 2020/02/20

Continued to flesh out 9.3 — 2020/02/21

Worked on 9.4 and 9.5 — 2020/02/25

Maligno wonders that Claiten should only crow twice and wonders if the boy is slipping the spell. Then he sees Creigal and follows him through the woods, while Creigal tries to find the source of the strange song. He sees it is Meu and follows her back to camp where he discovers her secret. She sees him too...

Polished 9.1 — 2020/03/08

Polished 9.2 and 9.3 — 2020/03/09

Reworked 9.3 and 9.4, added to and polished 9.5 and 9.6 — 2020/03/14