Chapter 17

Polished 17.7 and 17.8 — 1h35m07s — 2020/07/16

Worked on 17.2 — 51m56s — 2020/09/21

Worked on 17.3 and 17.4 — 35m14s — 2020/09/23

Polished 17.4 and 17.5 — 30m 54s — 2020/09/25

Polished 17.5 and 17.6 — 59m35s — 2020/09/25

Polished 17.7 and 17.8 — 1h23m50s — 2020/09/27

Polished 17.9 — 13m12s — 2020/09/30

Worked on / Polished 17.10 — 1h12m12s — 2020/09/30

Worked on 17.10 — 10m22s — 2020/10/03

Rewrote 19.9 — 1h33m37s — 2020/10/03

Krumpus talks Wenifas into staying near Hearthstone (he knows she's pregnant). Soirja and Sephonie promise to take good care of her and Evereste.

Wenifas massaged the shaman's hands until her own became sore and tight. "I am sorry," she frowned as she pulled her hands away. "I cannot continue any longer."

Krumpus smiled and patted the priestess on the shoulder as he had not expected her to massage him for so long. For some time they did not talk. Instead, they stared about the land and played with Evereste.

As time passed, Wenifas became anxious to hear what the shaman had discovered. A part of her was excited by what he might say, and a part of her was suspicious.

(missing transition…)

"This is a thing you tell me, that I will not be dangerous?" Wenifas asked.

Krumpus shook his head. You must be dangerous. The world is dangerous and you must be in it. I tell you that you know. I tell you that you will make your choices with open eyes. Black magic destroys the magician as much as it destroys the world around him. White magic heals the magician as much as it heals the world around him.

"And colored magic is the magic of necessity?" Wenifas asked.

Krumpus nodded. Do not think your magic must always be white. Are there not parts of you that should be destroyed? Are you so pure?

Wenifas shrugged. "Then teach me your magic, and I shall hope that I will know which color I need when the time comes to use it."

Might I ask that you use it to build a life worth living? He wrote.

"Is magic so powerful that it can recreate a life?" Wenifas asked.

The shaman's eyes went wide. Magic is all. How does the sun shine? How do the birds fly? Are these things not magic?

"These things are pedestrian," Wenifas frowned. "Because I do not know how it happens does not mean there is special power in it. What does this have to do with a different life? I fear you take the glamour out of it."

Krumpus shook his head. Magic cannot give you a new life - but it can bring meaning to the life you have.

"Then you have discovered this secret: that I do not value my life as it is," Wenifas shrugged. "All that I know is behind me. How am I to live in a land I do not know, among strangers, with no one to help?"

Krumpus shrugged. When have you been alone? Can strangers not become friends? Change your focus. Look at what builds, instead of what crumbles, and you will have things worth keeping.

"But they shall be swept up in the storm, destroyed like everything that came before," Wenifas huffed. "It is an impotent magic to build sandcastles on the beach."

Krumpus shook his head. All castles crumble. He wrote. The earth itself shall one day perish. But much of what we build persists beyond our life. Those we leave behind will build upon the things we leave. Do we leave them poisoned spines, to corrupt their flesh and speed them to the grave? Do we leave them home and hearth, that they might raise a new generation to value the things that nourished and kept us?

"Your white magic is slow if it requires the building of life to proceed."

Krumpus gave an emphatic nod. Black magic is fast, because it is selfish destruction. The colorful magics are death used to sustain life, and life raised to destroy. But white is most powerful. Without the slow build of life itself, there is no death. There is nothing.

"There is always death," Wenifas sighed. "Black magic will not be denied."

Krumpus stared at Wenifas. Is it so bad? If man should ever find immortality in his own fashion, how shall their children ever be free? We must be forever shackled to the tyranny of our father's inaccuracies.

"What makes them wrong? Who is to say they do not have the right of it?"

You cannot escape death simply by serving it. Death shall claim us all. Beside, if life is not permanent, what does this say about death?

"It is not forever?" Wenifas asked.

We shall return that we might right our own wrongs.

Wenifas frowned. "Again, you sound like the church. Only I know them to be hypocrites."

Krumpus shrugged. Even liars tell the truth from time to time, or else no one should ever believe them. It is best to ignore the messenger and regard only the message as even the best of people sometimes get things wrong.

"And where are you wrong?" Wenifas snipped.

Krumpus gave her a big, toothy grin. Now you learn.

"And this is why I must go within - that I know what I believe," Wenifas reasoned. "And I must know that I will get some parts of it wrong, and this is why I must always be patient and think of it as a game I play."

Krumpus nodded and smiled.

"Then I am ready. Tell me what you know and prove your magic," Wenifas stated.

Krumpus put his hand on her belly. He smiled at her with compassion and understanding. For a split second, Wenifas was offended by the touch. Then she realized why he did it.

"Shut up!" She yelled at him. "How? How is this possible?!"

Krumpus made a circle with his thumb and finger, then plunged the finger of his other hand through the ring in a lewd gesture, and smirked.

Despite herself, Wenifas giggled at his joke. "I know how it is done," she whispered. "I ask because I have not slept with no one, no one since..." Her eyes got wide and she covered her mouth as it dropped open. “… and I have not taken the flower.”

With a wide grin, Krumpus wrapped her in a hug and patted her back as her face displayed nothing but shock. Finally, he released her and hastily wrote on the board once more. You can stay among us. My people are kind and will be fair to you.

But Wenifas did not pay his words any attention. She grabbed his shirt and stared in his eyes. "I shall have his baby," she whispered, and despite her smile, tears flowed freely down her face. "Blessed Naharahna! She has given me his child!" And with that, she grabbed him and hugged him once more.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Word went out among the Jindleyak that a foreigner was sought. Carringten produced a portrait of Humbert that was fair to his likeness along with a description of the man. Creigal expected no word of the thief and set himself to ride south for Land's End.

"This is my cousin, Thamaron," Scurra said.

"I am beginning to think all these people are your cousin," Carringten waved at the wide room.

"You wouldn't be far off," Scurra replied. "Yet, Thamaron is different because of what he knows."

"Then you have found our thief?" Creigal asked.

"I’ve seen your thief," Thamaron confirmed. "I saw this man some weeks ago and followed him north to the borders of Indrah."

"You followed him?"

"Yes, Thamaron answered. “He was looking for someone, a man by the name of Lasitus. Have you heard of him?" Thamaron asked.

“I know the name,” Creigal admitted, though he shook his head. "If he is still around, he would be nearly 400 years old."

"And who can say if he is still alive?” Thamaron spit. “If he is dead and gone, then it is his spirit that haunts these mountains, east and north of Melmorahn, in what is now known as The Blight. No one goes there. It's been over a hundred years since anyone has actually seen the man, but The Blight is still there, and as strange and dangerous as ever. We have no reason to believe he isn't out there, draining the land of it's life."

“Did the thief say why he sought Lasitus?” Carringten asked.

"He said he was looking for an ancient mystic and spoke of Lasitus with reverence. He said he wished to study under the man and learn his secrets," Thamaron explained. “To speak so glowingly of that monster raised concerns. That is why I followed him all the way to the border, to be sure he was gone.”

Creigal clapped Carringten on the shoulder and smiled at the table in general. “This is our man. Now we shall follow him, and we shall regain my treasure.”

“That is no light task,” Thamaron shrugged. "It is said that countless men, women, and children have perished at his hand. If you wish to confront Lasitus, you will have to do so with more than two men.”

“Then we will raise an army,” Carringten stared at Thamaron. “If this Lasitus is truly so dangerous, then we shall help you be rid of him, and then we will have our thief.”

“You must be wealthy men,” Thamaron sat back.

“There are few richer,” Carringten noted as he glanced at Creigal.

Creigal shook his head, “We do not have the time to raise an army and march it north. There must be alternatives to an all out assault.”

“We could ask for the thief…” Carringten began.

Creigal shook his head. “If Lasitus is still around, he won’t be interested in bartering, not even with a duke. I suspect he has ignored any attempts at diplomacy?” he asked.

“Our forefathers sent messengers to him. Most of them didn’t return, and the few that did are said to have suffered greatly,” Thamaron nodded. “None that I know have ever attempted to meet the man. There are those that go to the outskirts of that place, and a few are said to know its secrets, but I don’t think any has ever met Lasitus.”

“Then we will go and we will see what we can do,” Creigal suggested. “I suspect some among your friends might be enticed to see us into the blight?”

Thamaron nodded. “There are those—but they will not be cheap.”

“Money is no concern,” Creigal waved. “We will send a runner south, to pay your price.”

“We will have to wait until your runner returns,” Thamaron answered. “These men will not work for a promise.”

Creigal snorted and face grew dark. “If this Lasitus is such a plague upon the land, are there not those that will see him destroyed?”

Thamaron looked at his cousins, then looked back at Creigal. “You do not know the legends. Armies have gone after that man, so that a few survivors might crawl their way out, and tell the rest of us of their extermination.”

“Then we are defeated?” Carringten asked. “Have we discovered Humbert’s trail only to be forced to abandon it?”

Creigal didn’t answer. Instead, he smoldered, as he glared at the various occupants of the room.

“We shall have to wait,” Carringten surmised. “Once we have the money…”

“It’ll be winter,” Thamaron shrugged. “We could go after him in the spring, once the passes open.”

“So we’ve found him only to lose him again,” Carringten shook his head.

Krumpus interrupted, his hands waving wildly. Thamaron stared at the man, and spoke as his own fingers replied in Tallian Hand. “And who will front him? Who will pay for his army? Or do you know men that will fight for free?”

Krumpus pointed to himself.

Thamaron shook his head. “Your a rich man, but you are not that rich.”

Again, the shaman waved his hands, and was most adamant.

“Then it shall be a smaller troop,” Thamaron replied. “How many do you think? Fifty? A hundred? Maybe ten or twenty of our own, then some among the Indrah and the Mormose that are interested?”

Krumpus nodded.

“Will it be enough?” Thamaron asked.

Krumpus shrugged.

“Then we shall go, and you shall go with us?” Creigal asked.

“He shall go with you, and he will pay the men that join you,” Thamaron pointed at the shaman. “And thanks to his rising status, we shall find some help comes cheaply.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

There was disturbing word from the south. The town of Solveny was sacked. On the surface it appeared the attack was carried out by Trohl marauders, overseen by Gaur officers. Count Drefford of Wibbeley swore to exact revenge against the Bouge and had already sent half a battalion to the ruined town while he urged the Dunkels to declare war on Gaurring.

The Dunkels were looking for reason to declare war against Gaurring, and as some five hundred marauding horsemen found sanctuary across the river, they now had their reason. Besides, Creigal berDuvante was missing, and two separate men declared themselves to be the heir to the duchy: Creigal's cousin, Varius; and his natural born son, Aerindoun. Count Drefford insisted Land's End interfere, and pledged support toward this end. The Dunkels believed they might secure the northern expanse of Gaurring for their very own.

Creigal knew this because the Jindleyak knew this. But the Jindleyak were also sympathetic to the Dunkels even though they were confused by the sacking of Solveny. News out of the west was strange, but with the reports brought by the Oak and Beast, they suspected it was Minsitrian duplicity and not Trohl berserkers that sacked the Noethrin city. Although they offered aid to the Dunkels, it was food and supplies for refugees, and not weapons or men for fighting, which disappointed the Noeth. Creigal wrote several letters, to make his whereabouts known, and to make his intentions concrete. He expected his words would be trumpeted by one side in Gaurring, and reviled by the other. As for the Dunkel's, he wondered who’s side they were on anyway.

There were two main letters composed: one to the Dunkels, offering his condolences and swearing that no man loyal to his name had any part in the sacking of Solveny. He begged them to stay out of Gaurring's internal affairs, and insisted any interference would only muddy the waters and cause undo drama for all concerned. He admitted relations had not always been peaceful between the duchies, but hoped the Dunkels would honor the peace that established some fifty years ago. The second letter was the Jubilee letter, addressed to the Gaurring public, and explicitly stated his intentions.

Now, he needed a courier.

For a moment, Creigal thought to send Baet, and to release him from service once this was done. He meant to pay him a handsome sum for the many times he served with honor, and pardon the man-at-arms for the troubles he caused during his moments of weakness. Yet, true to fashion, Baet managed to embroil himself in additional drama with their hosts, the Jindleyak; a fact that set Creigal's blood to boiling. At least Baet had the good grace to leave Creigal out of it this time. Instead, Creigal looked to the natives for a man to run his messages. He did not have to look far.

"I'd love to go," Andrus insisted. "The weather turns to fall. Winter isn't far behind, and I've never had much love for snow in the mountains.”

“You shall find it on the plains,” Carringten noted.

“But I shall not find it at such depths,” Andrus noted. “Besides, who doesn't long to see the ocean?"

"This isn't a vacation," Creigal noted. "If the wrong people catch you carrying my letters, it’ll be your death."

"Nothing is without risk,” Andrus shrugged. “And when taking such a risk it is best to focus on the aspects that bring purpose and joy to the adventure,” he smiled.

Still, Creigal shook his head. "Your Saot is not the strongest."

"It's better than Aim’s, and Homoth does not know it at all," Andrus pointed. "Still, I will ample time to study, once I reach the noeth, and I have little to say until I reach Gaurring Heart anyway. And perhaps a Trohl is less likely to garner attention from your enemies."

"Perhaps you do see the heart of it, and there is little enough you need to know," Creigal smiled. "But we shall have you stay clear of the capital. It is crawling with spies. Instead, go to Bastion's Crossing and present yourself to Magistrate Saethurs. His office is middling and you shall not garner much attention from any that help you find it. Yet, he will see you immediately to Varius," Creigal said. "But then, it is not my duchy that worries me. I'm more concerned with Land's End and delivering a letter to the Dunkels. I trust that Count Drefford has a number of spies among their court. I suspect they have explicit orders to interfere in my affairs and shall deal with any of my couriers with extreme prejudice."

“Once I am in the city, I will hire a post runner to see it delivered to court,” Andrus noted.

Creigal nodded, happy to hear such quick thinking from the Trohl. “I shall have the letters for you shortly.”

Andrus leaves.

“What do you think?” The duke asked Carringten.

"I think he is as sharp and capable as any man we've met in these mountains," Carringten nodded. "It doesn't hurt that he knows you and has always been friendly. I think if you also give him a note to collect the money we owe these fine people, he'll serve with valor and distinction, for he'll serve himself as well."

“I had almost forgot,” Creigal said with a frown. “I am so distracted by the interests of the duchy that I forgot my obligations.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Forget this mad hunt, Meu whispered in the duke’s head. Instead, take me south.

Creigal frowned. He had no interest in returning home, to the impending war. "I have little fight left in me," he admitted. "If I cannot remember my daughter, at least I would forget my sons."

You will never go home?

"I will," Creigal said. "After I find Humbert, and regain what is rightfully mine."

Meu pressed her face into Creigal's chest. You trade your duchy for a phantom and a bit of silver.

“The duchy was never mine,” Creigal disagreed. “I was simply the figurehead for a time, and I will cut that time a bit short so I might remember my daughter, my one true child. After all, there is nothing above the love of a good woman."

Then, love me, Meu said. We are not so old. Take me south, and I will be your mistress. My daughter is not far from Gaurring Heart. I will happily split time between the two of you, and since I fly, the distance is negligible.

“I know the distance,” Creigal assured her. "And when you grow bored of me, will you fly north and finally return home? Will you leave me to my torments once more?"

Only if you command it, Meu answered. No. I will stay with you as long as you allow it. I'll have you and my daughter nearby, and that will be enough. I will forget these mountains.

"And the good people in them?” Creigal asked. “Either way, I will be without my daughter, and I will have forsaken her memory on top of it,” he shook his head. “I cannot. Not yet. I know where Humbert goes. I think I must stay the course and confront the thief. Then, when I am done, I will come for you. And when I return, Varius will be too much in power, and I will have no interest in replacing him. Then we can be together, and I will not have the responsibilities of the duchy upon me.”

What of your dreams of dying? Meu admonished him. You cannot be with me if you are dead, and I am hearing dread things about this Lasitus.

“Another boogie man,” Creigal sighed. “If I die, then I most sincerely apologize. Death is not my wish, but it must find me eventually, and not just in dreams,” he shrugged. “I have lived a full life. My blood carries on in the form of my feckless children. Yet, they shall have children of their own, and who is to say what they will be? Undoubtedly, some of them will become fine, outstanding people of note, reversing the path of their fathers, just as my sons turned against me."

You take such a dour view, Meu noted.

Creigal shrugged. “It is what I see.”

And what if it should be one of the grandchildren you already have? Meu asked. What if you should return home to find them expelled from their own father’s house? You might do them no end of good, if they should ever meet you.

“Indeed, my boys already have children of their own, nearly a dozen, last I knew,” Creigal admitted. “But I can do them no good while their fathers are alive. They’ll have nothing to do with me and are kept from Gaur in general. Several are in Kelm, some are among the Dans. I went to visit one that lives in Ewile, but I was stonewalled and could not even get a glimpse of her. No. I do not think I can do anything for my grand-babies. I will go north—but for now, I would lay with you,” he said, and kissed her again.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

"The Oak and Beast is a reference to two families that hold an alliance. The Oak stands for the Yockupp family, and are a stalwart and solid people. The Beast stands for the Trandhill family, a driven and cunning lot. Everyone in the militia is either a member or a vouchsafe of these two families. Traust was a Yockupp as is Elpis, Duboha, Scurra, and Krumpus. Aim and the brothers are Trandhills. Andrus is a vouchsafe, an adopted cousin to the Trandhills, his true heritage is unknown. Saleos was also a vouchsafe, born to neither family, but allowed to take the oath due to his good character. I know it for a fact,” Paye smiled. “For I am a Trandhill.”

"How big are these families?" Baet asked.

"Very big," Pye said. “At last count, the Yockupps had over a thousand active members in the militia.”

“And how many Trandhills?”

“Paye laughed. “The Trandhills do not count such things. They would not allow, or even admit, to the limits of their strength.”

“So you are a distant cousin of Homoth and Komotz?” Baet asked.

"Not at all," Paye smiled. "They are my younger brothers."

Baet stared at the beautiful woman, then just managed to keep the panic from his voice, as he spoke. "They are your brothers?"

Paye laughed. “Do not worry. Homoth is suspicious and fickle. I’ve heard his words against you and find them in error,” she smiled. “Can I ask, what did you do to anger him?”

“We played games of chance and I took his money,” Baet admitted. “Then I won more of his money and rubbed his face in it when I was done.”

Paye smirked and tried not to laugh at her brother’s misfortunes. “He will get over it,” she said as she leaned forward, and begged a kiss.

Was she begging a kiss, or was she daring him to try? Either way, Baet gave in to the temptation. He leaned forward, and sure enough, she let him kiss her.

After a few light pecks, Baet pulled away. Paye, blushed and dropped her head as she smiled. She brushed her hair behind her ear, then stared at the Soat with a starry-eyed wonder.

Baet stared at the light-haired woman and held her cheeks in his hands. His heart ached with a longing he’d not felt since… when was the last time he’d felt this way? God, she was gorgeous. Ever so slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her again.

Paye leaned into the Saot, her hands grabbed his as her tongue licked at his lips. She kissed him again and the door to the room popped open. Baet ignored it though Paye turned to see who interrupted. She looked chagrined, so Baet started to apologize, “We were just…” He began and turned to toward the door. A fist struck his face and interrupted his words. Next thing he knew, he was wrestling with Homoth—and the Jindleyak was far stronger than he would have imagined.

“Rat suckin’ fat fucker,” Homoth cursed as he twisted Baet in a sleeper hold. He applied pressure and the Saot was quickly losing it—then a foot struck his inner thigh and nearly bruised his baby maker. Homoth spun around to see who attacked him.

Paye stared daggers at her brother. She realized he wasn’t letting up on Baet, so she charged, feet and fists; then, as she got in close, nails and teeth.

Screaming brought the others. Creigal was the first to arrive. He watched Baet as the guard struggled to his knees while the siblings quarreled. Elpis and Duboha were right behind the duke. They interjected themselves and separated the squabblers, then argued in Trohl. Creigal stared at his bodyguard as he listened to the foreigners argue, his disappointment visible only to Baet.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The Howling

The bodies of Traust, Apulton, and Claiten are burned, and their ashes spread under the family tree. For a time the others mourn, especially Wenifas; then Scurra takes the woman’s hand and leads her away from the village, in order to honor Komotz.

“I don’t understand. Why do we honor Komotz if he is still alive?” Wenifas asked as she stepped along the obvious path.

Scurra shook her head. “He is dwindling. He is in constant pain and will not live much longer; and so we go to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Wenifas paused. “Krumpus was telling me there are ways to bring about a peaceful death to those too far gone. Does he take the mushrooms?”

“No,” Scurra shook her head. “He takes the warrior’s path. He’s asked for the howling.”

“I see,” Wenifas said, though she clearly didn’t. The ladies arrived at the cottage where Komotz rested. “They’ve begun,” Scurra noted as several men carried the prone little brother on a plank over their shoulders. There were at least a hundred people gathered around the small cottage, crowding near, fingers gliding gently across the warrior’s pale skin. The bearers carried Komotz along another path, into a large garden, while those gathered began to sing a mournful song.

“Is he…?” Wenifas began. She stopped as she noticed the twist of his grimace. His expression changed, which meant he wasn’t yet dead. “Where do they take him?”

“To the howling,” Scurra repeated, as if that meant everything.

The garden was dominated by old growth trees. Many of them surrounded by large carved rocks with elegant lettering and delicate decoration. “Gravestones?” Wenifas covered her mouth, shocked by what she saw and also the fact that she recognized them.

Scurra gave a nod. “Family trees,” she said as they started up a hill.

They walked a good half a mile before they came to a cliff that overlooked a ravine, some two or three hundred feet down. The men that carried Komotz set the foot of the platform to rest on the ground and held him at an angle so he nearly stood. A line formed. The gathered people talked and touched and kissed Komotz, then stepped away as they continued to sing their lament, tears in their eyes. They gathered in tight knots, held each other, and cried as the line continued to kiss and whisper to the injured young man.

Scurra pushed Wenifas into the line. “What are they saying?” Wenifas asked as she slowly stepped toward the guard.

“Goodbyes,” Scurra noted.

“Does he speak Ministrian?”

Scurra shrugged, “He speaks sorrow. He’ll catch your tone.”

Wenifas stepped closer and closer to Komotz and wondered what she could say. She listened to the words spoken by those in front of her, but couldn’t any sense of them. All too quickly she was in front of the guard. He wasn’t anything like she remembered. Before he seemed so carefree or overly serious, full of youthful charm and directness. Now he was gaunt and sickly pale with a number of heavy bandages wrapped about his left arm, his right leg, his torso, and forehead. He looked terrible, a ghost of his former self. His neck and the bit of his chest that she could see were purple and yellow with deep bruising. His mouth was twisted in a quivering frown as tears flooded freely from his eyes. He labored to breathe. His pain was obvious and overwhelming, and it hurt her just to look at him.

The thought jumped in her head; at least it was quick for Claiten. Tears ran from her eyes as she remembered her son. She brushed the young Trohl’s hair, then kissed hi on his lips and forehead. She tried to smile, but found herself moaning instead. Suddenly sobbing, she turned and stepped away.

The sister, Paye, gathered Wenifas in her arms and pulled her into a tight not of mixed ladies, all crying over the young' Trohl’s torment. She didn’t care that she didn’t know them. She allowed them to gather her in and bawled as they rubbed sympathy into her back and arms. Scurra joined them with tears in her own eyes, though she managed to stay silent.

Although not the last in line, Scurra was close. Only Andrus, Duboha, and Aim remained. They were slow as they said their goodbyes and wept openly in front of the guard—and then everyone had said their goodbyes, and Wenifas wondered the obvious thing. “Now what?” she asked as she wiped her eyes. She turned and watched as Homoth and Aim gently helped Komotz to his hands and knees.

Slowly, weakly, Komotz crawled his way to the edge of the cliff. Wenifas gasped as she realized he was not about to stop. She took a step forward. Scurra grabbed her arm and shook her head. Wide-eyed and on the verge of panic, Wenifas watched as Komotz crawled closer and closer to the edge. She couldn’t watch. She turned, though she could hear both the scratch of the stone, and the collective gasp of the others, as he pulled himself over the cliff. She jumped when she heard the distant thud, bounce, and roll of his body as it slowly settled at the bottom of the ravine.

A chill howl rose from among the gathered crowd, and it seemed to the foreign priestess that they all joined in. They cried their pain and grief at the uncaring sky. Wenifas thought it was eerie and unnerving. The howling and bawling crescendoed, then slowly died away. Now that it was over, Wenifas stared at the edge of the cliff. She wondered at the waste of it all. Several people approached and looked over the edge, but most of those gathered had no interest, including Wenifas. Slowly, the crowd dispersed and began down the hill. Having overcome the chill of what she witnessed, Wenifas whispered to herself, “how could he?”

Scurra shook her head. “What were his options?”

“He could take the mushrooms,” Wenifas noted.

“Dead is dead,” Scurra began. “So how is that better?”

“Why not simply live?” Wenifas asked.

“For how long? In how much pain?” Scurra shook his head. “Whether or not he made the right choice is a moot point anyway. The only thing that matters is that it was his choice to make.”

“But...” Wenifas began, then stopped as she realized there was no right answer, just a lot of wrong ones. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better about what she’d witnessed. “How often do these happen?”

“A howling? I hear of them once or twice a month. I attend maybe four or five a year,” Scurra shrugged.

Wenifas was shocked by the number. “That sounds like a lot,” she noted.

“It is a big family.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.7 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Carringten led Baet to the barn. Once inside, he lit a lamp and checked the various stalls to see that they were alone. Sure that no one else was about, Carringten opened the door and let Creigal inside, then stood at the door and watched as Creigal led Baet to a makeshift seat.

Baet poked about a bit, feeling uneasy, but comforted by the precautions taken by his captain. As the duke sat, Baet couldn’t hold it in, and so he asked his question. “How shall we go about this?" he whispered.

Creigal turned and looked at his guard with baffled indifference. "I intend to ride north in full view of our new friends, and I aim to leave you here to face your fate," he said. “And what is it you plan?” he replied.

Baet felt betrayed. Did Creigal mean it, or was it possible the duke was simply pulling his chain, as they said among the guards? Unsure what to say, he didn’t reply.

Creigal crossed his arms and waited.

Increasingly uneasy, Baet spoke. .“Shall I join up with you later, a day or two on?"

"Join us?" Creigal frowned. "I think that would be unwise—what with your current entanglement."

"Then how shall I honor my oath?"

Creigal locked eyes with his nervous guard, and nodded. “Honor your oath," he mused. He stood and began to pace around Baet. He looked the guard up and down as he spoke. "Honor is a thing I take seriously,” he began. “I have not forgotten your valiant protection of my person,” he noted, and gave a momentary smile, quickly replaced with a frown. "But I have also not forgotten your association with Humbert."

Baet's heart dropped into his stomach. His eyes went wide and he stared up to the rafters of the barn. "I..." He began, in hopes of defending himself; but thoughts of Haddelton, thoughts of Vearing, thoughts of other friends in the guard convinced him it was best to come clean and let the chips fall where they may. “I failed,” he ended lamely, then refused to look at his lordship, and stared at his boots instead.

For several beats, Creigal let Baet soak in his admission. He simply stared at the guard until Baet raised his eyes and looked at the duke once more. Still the duke said nothing, and so Baet decided to give a full confession.

"I failed you," Baet repeated. "I spoke of matters to the clerk. I answered his questions about the habits of the watch quite candidly—though I knew the information was not to be shared. I allowed him onto the grounds. He claimed he only wanted a bit of seed from your garden, though I know this is not a defense. I did not think he would sneak into the house. I did not think he was so bold. When I heard of the burglary, I knew it was my fault," Baet held out the palms of his hands. "I only hope to return home one day."

Creigal nodded, his demeanor calm yet disappointed. He waited to see if the confession would go any further, and when it didn’t, he replied. "I meant to wait to confront you,” he began. “I meant to capture Humbert, so I might accuse you in his presence, so I might ascertain the degree of your guilt. But you have complicated things, first outside of Wibbeley with your heroic effort, and now with selfish actions among our newfound friends.”

Baet began to protest, but Creigal held up a hand.

“I do believe you when you say you’ve been set up—but I also believe that Homoth would not sabotage you if he had no reason—so I find myself wondering,” the duke continued. “Why does he hate you, Baetolamew? What have you done that he’d risk his own good reputation to tarnish yours? I’ll say you’ve served me quite well since Wibbeley—but I cannot say there’s been a single-minded determination about it,” he shook his head. "Do you not see the difficulties you cause with these natives? What if the family should hold me responsible for the actions of my guard? Do you see how they might accuse me too? We are in a foreign land and we are fortunate to have these friends. Yet, you provoke them. You have allowed your own interests to interfere with our mission. You have become too independent. You pretend to serve me while serving yourself first and foremost."

Baet shook his head. “I am framed.”

"And why are you framed?" Creigal repeated.

"The brother hates me," he confessed.

"What reasons have you given him to hate you? Is it because you have taken his money? Is it because you dally with his sister?" Creigal glared at his guard. “You are careless. You have complicated our endeavors unnecessarily. Have you not noticed his rising anger? Did it seriously come upon you so unexpected? Are you not a talented and decorated spy? Have you lost your sense of nuance and subtlety?”

Baet shook his head. “You are right. I have lost my edge. I am dulled and serve without passion. What am I to do, my lord?" he asked in a flat voice.

"First, you must stop addressing me with such terms,” Creigal noted. “I am no longer your master. We are all but settled and I after this evening, I will have nothing more to do with you," he admonished the guard. "As for what I would do if I were in your shoes? It is apparent to me that you want a woman—and yet you have managed to find one in your own inconvenient way. So I ask, is she appealing to you?"

Baet thought to accuse Paye of ugliness, of a vile and nasty nature for the unfair treatment he received from her family—but he also thought to confess of his longing for her, and that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen since… No. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Yet, as he admonished himself, he wondered if it was true. Did he really think she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, or did he simply feel this way because she was the most recent woman to tug at his heartstrings? He wondered that it was possible to think of her in such divergent ways. He settled on a noncommittal shrug, both neutral and weak, and stared at the floor as he answered. “I hope. I only hope she is what I need—for she is what I want.”

“Well, that is a wise and calculating response,” Creigal nodded as he studied the guard. "There is hope for you yet, if you can navigate yourself out of this quandary.” He shook his head. “You have allowed yourself a shot at happiness, but I wonder if the price is not too steep. Can you duel the brother and still hope to possess the sister’s heart?" He shrugged. "Allow me tell you what I see in your purchase: I see a strong girl with an independent spirit to match your own. I see someone that will make your life miserable if you take her with an ambivalent heart and a begrudging sense of duty. I see all that you want, or your sure destruction, depending on how this is all handled. I cannot tell you your course directly, but I can give you some semblance of guidance. Go slow. Be exacting. Use the skills that made you such a decorated and devious spy—only this time use them in service of your own heart—and with luck you’ll get what you desire.”

A touch of a smile and a gleam lit Baet’s face.

"I see a woman that will make you happy, one strong enough to keep you from your own self-destructive impulses. I see the possibility of the sort of happiness most only get to dream—if you are willing to work for it—if you can honor her with greater fidelity than you have shown me," Creigal continued. "She is a beautiful girl, Baetolamew, and she means to have you. I say, let her. Let her have you. She can protect you from her family, from her friends and neighbors, if you treat her well and make her happy. But first you must get her, and I do not see how you will do that. If you kill the brother, I doubt she will have you—and yet, you cannot let him kill you— and so you stand at an impasse,” Creigal admitted. He leaned forward. “But if you can see yourself through it, there is a chance of a rich rewarding life for you. You must embrace it. If you run, then you must consider the father and brothers, and you must consider them alone for I will not protect you," he continued. "Whatever it is that you choose to do, you and I are finished. There is nothing left between us but payment for your services." Creigal reached in his pocket, pulled out a handful of gold and silver coins, and showed it to the guard. "You have spoiled an assassination, and for that I owe you," he jangled the coins in his hand.

Baet longed to possess such music. He could not believe the duke was offering his so much, and yet he was right. By luck and skill, and at far too high a price, Baet did spoil the assassination.

Creigal’s look changed, and now he stared at the guard, suspicious and aggrieved. He pulled a single diem from the pile, held it out, and closed his fist around the other coins. "Yet, it was your betrayal that allowed my enemies to move against me and kill several of my loyal guards, some of my favorite men among them.” Creigal opened his closed fist, full of glittering metal, and held the single diem in his other hand. “If I should give you all this coin, I am justified,” he placed the diem among the others. “And if I should drag you outside and hang you by your neck until you were dead, I am also justified." He stared at his guard.

Baet hanged his head. "I will take what I deserve," he answered with a miserable and tortured look on his face.

"And what do you deserve?”Creigal frowned. “Your heart is a mystery to me.” He took up the diem once more and placed the bulk of coin back in his pocket. “For your sake, I will repeat myself, as I feel my advice is the greatest thing I can give you. If you mean to be rich, stay with this woman," he finished and dropped the diem in Baet’s hand. Then, the duke stepped past the guard. “Good luck to you,” he said without looking back. I suspect I shall you see you tomorrow as I leave—and then I doubt I shall ever see you again.” With that, Creigal left the barn.

Baet watched as he left and expected Carringten to go with him, but the captain did not follow his master. Instead, he approached the admonished guard.

Carringten stepped stared at the younger man. He held out his hand. “Surrender any device of the Duke. If you should ever return to Gaurring Heart, do not attempt to collect anything from the barracks that does not belong to you, understood?”

“Then I am allowed to return home after all?” Baet stated.

Carringten shrugged. “It won’t please the duke, and you are not eligible to serve among his ranks, but you are not banished,” he noted. “I would tell you to stay here. If you must have things from home, hire a courier to claim anything you cannot live without. Indeed, we send one to collect money, that we can pay our debts. Perhaps he will see to your personal affects.”

“I could certainly use my coin.”

“How much do you have?” Carringten asked.

Baet hanged his head, “Not enough to bother.”

For several seconds, Carringten stared at the junior guard. “When did you lose heart?” He finally asked.

Baet shook his head and wondered if he should answer. A fire caught in his belly, and he thought, why not? “Took years,” he began. “The worst was the daughter of the that viceroy, the child, the one I begged not to kill.”

“Ahh,” Carringten sighed as he nodded. “I can see why.”

“She was seven,” Baet snipped as he stared daggers at his captain.

Carringten stared back. “That man killed dozens of ours—and not just men. He removed a number of our allies and learned far too many of our secrets.”

“And after I killed her, three more of your men were murdered the next week. Almost four!” Baet pressed a finger into his own chest. “And I can only guess at how they found me out.”

Carringten nodded, “They sent a clear message back.”

“I have no problem with war,” Baet shook his head. “But I didn’t sign up to murder children.”

“It is more complicated than that,” Carringten began.

“More complicated then killing children?!” Baet glared. “I had the viceroy! If I could get the child, I could certainly get the viceroy—and I asked to switch targets—no! I begged to switch targets!” he began to cry. “But I was ordered to go forward,” Baet nodded, his face grim, and his voice barely above a whisper. “I did it and I was damned quiet. I killed her guards and her nursemaid with no sound at all. Then, I strangled a child with my own hands. She struggled, and I only tightened my grip,” he said. “Her tears soaked my hands, and I only tightened my grip,” he expounded. “She went limp, and I only tightened my grip—until I felt the delicate bones of her spine crack,” he shook his head and stared at his captain with wet eyes, their faces only inches apart. “Why did you make me do it?!” he asked. “Why did I have to be as bad as our enemies?!”

“It is more complicated,” Carringten repeated. “The child had weird abilities. How do you think her father was able to ferret out so many of our spies?”

“Magic?!” Baet stared back. “But how?!”

Carringten shook his head. “We do not know,” he began. “we were never sure—but we knew it was her.”

“And you couldn’t even tell me THAT?!” Baet stormed. “I’ve been under your command for nearly twenty years, and I never flinched from any order, not until then,” he shook his head, then continued to do so. “We have so many secrets,” he accused. “We don’t even talk to each other. Layers and layers of secrets, until I wasn’t even sure we were the good guys. how can I be sure, when we are as low as our enemies?”

“It is war,” Carringten shrugged. “We fight in secret, and men die daily—but we do it so we don’t have open war, so the dying is by the dozens, and not the hundreds, or the thousands.” He stepped forward and pulled a small purse from his pocket. He held it out to Baet.

Baet stared at the man, then lifted his hand to receive the unexpected coin.

“The duke is thankful for years of loyal service. He is thankful you saved his life. He may have been hard on you for your faults, but he has faults of his own, and recognizes that no man is perfect,” Carringten said.

“Why didn’t he say so?” Baet asked.

“It is not his place to admit fault,” the dark captain noted. “His is a high station, and he must maintain a mystique, a perfection he does not possess.” Carringten placed a hand on Baet’s shoulder. “Farewell, my friend. Good luck to you.”

“Faith, light, and courage,” Baet quoted his oath.

“Faith, light, and courage,” Carringten repeated, then turned and stepped from the barn.

For a long second, Baet stared after the captain, rather shocked by how things turned out. He glanced down at the small purse of coin and tested its weight. A frown overcame his face. There couldn’t be more than a dozen coins in the bag, and most would be small. Still, he untied the drawstring and glanced inside—then stared as he fingered the bright coins. “Balls,” he whispered in reverence as he discovered it was all gold.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.8 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

After confronting Baet, Carringten stepped from the barn and joined Creigal. "It is done," Carringten said as they walked to the main house. "I am the last of your guard."

Carringten left the barn and found Creigal waiting for him. “It is done, he said and held out his hand. Curious to know what his captain held, Creigal extended his hand and took what was offered—a pin of a kite with a laurel about it’s head, with arrows in one claw and a bunch of grapes in another: it was Carringten’s badge of office.

“Why would you give me this?” Creigal shook his head. “I’ve not released or demoted you, nor would I.”

Carringten shook his head. “I’ve sworn to office, and yet I have failed. I am asked to command your guard, but there are none to command. There is only me. All the others are gone," he replied with a frown.

“And so you resign?!” Creigal was shocked.

"I have failed you," Carringten continued. "I allowed myself to be blinded by Baet's treachery, and it almost got you killed. Indeed, we lost a number of good men, and when it was just Baet and I to protect you, I could not keep one man out of trouble.”

“But I have survived, and you too!” Creigal replied. “I am still your duke, and I have many guards at home that need a capable commander.”

Carringten disagreed. “If they are are home, they cannot guard you. I am the last, and though I will continue to serve as your guard, I will not pretend there there is anyone left for me to command.”

"But what of these others? What of Toar and those among the natives that we have hired to see us north?”

Carringten shook his head. "They are not Gaur. They do not look to me. They know you and look only to you. Although I may be the closest, I am only a guard. I will protect you from anything, so long as I am capable, but I will not pretend I command anything more than my own body. I cannot. I had your command, and I have failed."

"And what of our return home?” Cregal asked. “What shall you do when we are among our own once more?"

“When we return to Gaurring we can discuss my position further,” Carringten said. “Until then, I must not pretend. I am your loyal guard. Nothing more."

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.9 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Pye was furious. "You chose the musket?! You mean to kill my brother?!"

“I mean to live!” Baet stared at her, unsure what else to say. "It's a duel to the death, and It is my best weapon! Or do you hope I will die?!"

"You will not kill my brother!" Pye raged. She stomped from the smithery as Baet and Valleris stared after her.

Valleris shook his head.

Baet stared at the smith, angry that he had witnessed the exchange, and even more angry that he was keeping his peace. "What?" Baet snapped. “Come on, out with it!” he begged.

Valleris looked up at Baet. "This is the way it is with women: even if you win, you still lose."

*Remove Valleris*

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.10 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Chapter : Toar tells Celesi his secret. Celesi cries to Wenifas. Wenifas reveals that she's pregnant. Andrus approaches Celesi as she plays with the kittens.

the door slams as Celesi comes inside, runs to Wenifas, and immediately starts bawling. Baet sees Toar moping as he steps through the garden and decides to go after him

Although Celesi meant to leave without much ado, she flung the door wide as she hurried toward the garden. She was several steps into the yard when the hinges took hold, reversed the pull, and banged the door shut with such a force that Baet half thought it was a musket.

"Balls," he muttered, as he stared through the small window and caught sight of the distraught girl, her cute butt waggling an she went. The door banged again as Wenifas ran out to be with the girl, a fine figure for sure—a worried frown creased her face as she glanced about. Then the door sounded again—only this time the hinge merely creaked as Toar stepped out and softly set the door home. He turned the corner of the house, and headed toward the small creek that crept down the sid eof the property.

It was obvious to the guard there'd been some sort of unpleasantness between the two youths, and it wasn’t fair that Celesi had Wenifas to comfort her. Baet knew the only thing to do was follow after his friend and see to it that Toar was okay. He stood, stepped through the house, and gave a solemn nod and a thumbs up to Sephonie and Aspen as he stepped through the common room. He turned the corner of the house, followed after Toar, and felt a touch foolish as the door banged close once more.

Toar walked at a good pace for several minutes before he finally settled on grassy slope, then stared across the water with a huff. Not wanting to be a sneak, Baet continued after his friend, stepped close, and sat himself nearby. He glanced at Toar and snorted. “Balls of a day” he said, then picked a stone loose from the dirt, and lobbed it into the river.

Watching his friend from the corner of his eye, he plucked another stone from the ground and absently sent it into the drink. Toar turned as Baet pulled a third knocker from the earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Toar shrugged.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Toar said.

Half an hour earlier, Celesi had corned him in the barn, as he played with several kittens.

“Hey,” she glared as she spied the fragile felines and sat next to them. “I heard a rumor…” she began.

“Did you now?” Toar replied, not interested in discussing it. He had a feeling this was coming.

“I hear you’re thinking of going north with the duke,” she charged.

“I am going north with the duke,” Toar confirmed.

“Creigal says, it might be dangerous,” she noted.

“Yeah, I heard the same thing,” he said without looking up from the kittens.

Celesi glared at him. “I don’t want you to go,” she said. “Stay here.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to.”

“I want you to,” she pouted.

With a huff, Toar stood and tried to leave—but Celesi sprung from her seat and cut him off. “Stay,” she ordered him softly. She took his hand, and began to rub the palm with her fingers.

“Celesi—” he began.

Still holding his hand, she stepped closer, so that her breast was pressed against his palm. “Stay,” she repeated.

Toar stared her in the eye and admitted that she was incredibly attractive—if somehow so amazingly naive. How is it that she didn’t get the hint? “Celesi, I’m not staying,” he said as he gently pulled his hand from the soft, supple, mounded flesh.

Her face a roil of mixed emotions, she stared at him for several long seconds. She finally snapped, “But why?!”

Toar lowered his eyes and shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“I love you!” she blurted and lunged at Toar. She half tackled him as kittens scurried out of the way. With her arms wrapped about his neck, she begged, ““Stay with me.”

“Celesi—”

She pulled him down and lifted herself close to his ear. “Put a baby in me,” she whispered.

Celesi stared up at Toar, surprised to see his tears in his eyes. Why was he the one that was about to cry? He was the one being impossible! To her surprise, Toar slowly lowered himself so he was resting upon her.

She moaned as she ran her hands through his hair. “See?” she smiled. “You fit me just right.”

For several long breaths he rested against her. “You wanna have babies?” he finally asked.

“We have friends around us. I feel this is a safe place.”

Slowly, and despite her insistent hands, Toar sat up. To Celesi’s surprise, he tugged at his belt and undid his pants. She would let him, of course—but she had not expected him to agree so completely and immediately.

As he undressed, Toar spoke. “I used to live in the house of Kezodel, when I was quite young,” he began. “I was a slave, but more importantly, I was a servant. Kezodel had many wives and women that he used all the same, no matter his status. He was a jealous and guarded man. He was forever suspicious, and I was very close to his women.”

Celesi wondered at his point as he slid down his pants and exposed himself. She’d never seen a full grown man in the buff, but a childhood friend had told her to expect a large fat finger between his legs where he had nothing but hair. She cocked her head in question as she stared up at Toar, confused.

“He couldn’t have men around his women, so he made sure I wasn’t one in the only way that matters,” Toar confided, in a flat emotionless tone, without looking at her.

Celesi gasped as she finally realized what he was saying. She looked closer to see a small disfigured lump of flesh buried under the hair, the mere stump of a mighty tree. “Sweet Jeiju!” she covered her mouth, and this time when she began to cry, it was not for herself.

His shame supreme, Toar pulled up his pants and did his belt. “I hope you have your babies,” he said as he turned and began to leave. “But you will have to have them with someone else.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.11 +_)(*&^%$#@~

try and work this bit of the story into the segment above

Celesi blushed and hanged her head. "He was raised among a harem, you know. He worked for Kezodel." Celesi began. "One day, Kezodel brought a young girl into the harem, twelve or thirteen years old. Some of the women were jealous. They knew Kezodel preferred the young ones, and they were getting a bit long in the tooth. They were worried they'd be given to lieutenants, or cast off and forgotten. They plotted to kill her."

"He told you this?" Wenifas asked.

Celesi nodded. "A few of the nicer ladies hatched a plan to help her escape. They devised their own scheme on top of the ladies that meant to kill her. A few of guards were seduced. A couple were drugged. One was out and out killed. It was all easy enough for women of pleasure, with smiles on their faces and knives behind their backs. Toar snuck the girl from Kezodel's home. At the time, he was even younger than she was. It was the first time he was ever out of the house. You see, he was born in Kezodel's service. He was raised to serve his women-folk. And since Kezodel was forever jealous, precautions were taken," she explained.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.9 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Cleaning the stables was never so terrible, mostly because Tahoran never let it get that bad. At the very least, it was an opportunity to clear his head, to try make sense of the things he’d seen and heard, and generally a chance to exercise his demons with some hard labor.

Today he was troubled. He leaned into each shovel of manure and thought of the things he’d heard, largely from Trysta, as he filled the cart. There were troubling rumors and too many people in fighting uniforms. Word from Gaurring was everything was calm and prosaic—but Tahoran didn’t see it staying that way. Not if he was reading the signs right. His next report home would include a dire warning, one that he hoped wasn’t too late.

It wasn’t long before Tahoran had the cart full and needed to take it out to the mill, where it would be mixed with chips and dust and left to rot, before being returned to the castle gardens as compost; but most of that was work for another day, and other people besides. He only trucked to manure.

“Horsewind!” the porter called into the stables. Tahoran grumbled so the boy might know where to find him. He didn’t mind the nickname—even encouraged it since it’s use made him seem stupid and weak, anything but a threat. Anything but what he really was. “Hey, Horsewind,” the porter smiled as he saw the kind and simple old man. “Denerowe wants you to stop by the blacksmith and pick up a shipment that was supposed to be done this morning.”

“Greb and Fetters?” Tahoran asked the young boy, thinking it’d be shoes and tack for the horses.

“No, Cole Fier’s place; just off Hedter’s Market,” the porter replied. “You know the place?”

Tahoran gave a nod and tried not to show his surprise at being asked to go by a blacksmith that provided weapons to the castle.

“And Denerowe said to clean out the cart real good, so… you know…” the porter stammered to an close.

Tahoran imagined the captain said so that the weapons didn’t get shit all over them—not that it’d be too much of a bother. Sometimes, he wondered if he didn’t do too good of a job convincing the locals of his simplicity. Still, that was far better than having their suspicion. Of course, none of this was Tahoran’s immediate concern. He was more interested in the weapons and increase in military activity among the Dunkels—and he thought he’d have plenty of time to think it over, but he was barely a block from the castle walls when he saw several soldiers at the far end of the alley harassing a fair young woman.

Normally, Tahoran wouldn’t bother with a bunch of ruffians in uniform picking on some tart, no matter how undeserving it all might be. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t in the habit of playing small-time hero when it might jeopardize his real work. But this girl had a sword—and not just any weapon. She had a falchion of fine and specific crafting—a weapon he’d seen quite often in the hands of another. Even from a distance, Tahoran recognized the blade. He paused, and for a long second he considered the impossible. He thought perhaps it was time to burn his cover and return home after all.

Tahoran picked his shovel off the mounded manure in the back of his wagon and stepped into the alley. “Leave the woman alone!” he barked.

Alarmed the soldiers turned and stared at Tahoran. “It’s Horsewind!” One of them scoffed. “Piss off, before you anger us!”

The other two snorted and turned back to the girl, unconcerned by the simpleton stable sweep.

“Go on!” the first soldier called, a tall and well muscled youth. “Leave your betters to their sport!” he stood, arms akimbo.

Tahoran stared back at the man as he leaned on his shovel.

“I said, git!” The soldier snapped, then swaggered toward Tahoran. He tried to grab the old man, and only when the youth was about to touch him, did Tahoran move—then he moved so fast the youth was uncertain exactly what had happened. He was simply back on his ass, his face stinging, as he cried out in pain.

The other two soldiers turned from the girl, and her wild thrusting, and stared at the older man, who was suddenly the greater threat despite only having a shovel. “Did he just…?” One of them asked the other.

“I said leave her alone,” Tahoran repeated.

The two uninjured soldiers stalked down alley, their hands on the hilts of their swords. “This don’t concern you!”

The first soldier started to get up, but stopped when Tahoran put the shovel to his chest. “Stay down, or I’ll really put a hurtin’ on you,” he said as he glared at the advancing toughs. Thankfully, they were pinched in by the walls of the alley and had to approach from the same side.

The two standing soldiers pulled their swords and rushed the stable sweep. Tahoran dodged the first swing and parried the second with the handle of his shovel. He spun and speared the first man in the chest with the tip of the spade, then caught the second man with the flat against his face—maybe a touch harder than he planned. The first soldier staggered back and the second crumbled altogether.

Tahoran stepped past them so he was now between the woman and the soldiers. “Go on, now,” he said as he brandished the shovel. “Git yourselves.”

The soldiers collected themselves, and staring bloody murder at the stable sweep, hobbled down the street.

Tahoran turned to the woman as she continued to wave the falchion about. “Those boys are gonna go get their friends, and they’re gonna be lookin’ for both of us, so although I need you to tell me about that fancy weapon of yours, first I’d like to get you clear of town, where we’re likely to have less trouble,” he stated.

“What concern is it of yours?” she replied. “Maybe you should just leave me alone before I’m forced to hurt you.”

Tahoran leaned on his shovel. “I just fought three soldiers that had you cornered without going to their weapons. You can’t fight me,” he noted. “On the plus side, I’m not out for a cheap thrill like those ruffians. All I want to know about is that sword.”

“Why do you care?” Crea asked.

“That sword belongs to my master,” Tahoran told her.

Remembering where she got the weapon, Crea shook her head. If this man’s master was a rapist, she wanted nothing to do with him.

With a heavy sigh, Tahoran took a step forward, and before Crea could do anything about it, he was inside her guard. He grabbed the hilt of the weapon and twisted it out of her hand.

“Ow!” she cried as she let go of the sword. She leaned heavily against the wall, dejected and miserable as tears came to her eyes. She hoped getting raped wouldn’t be as bad the second time.

But the old man just stared at her and frowned. “Got your attention now?” he finally asked.

Crea nodded , unsure of just what he wanted.

“Those boys are coming back just as soon as they find some of their friends. I won’t be able to take ‘em by surprise this time. We can’t be here when they return,” he told her. “I want your story and nothing else. You can even keep the sword,” he said and held the weapon out to her. “Finders, keepers,” he told her.

Surprised, Crea reached out and took the weapon, then sheathed it.

“Good. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go somewhere safe and have us a talk, like civilized people. No waving weapons around and all that horseplay. I’m Tahoran,” he smiled and held out a hand.

“Crea,” she told him and put her hand in his.

“Well, Crea. Let’s get off these streets,” he kept her hand, turned, and pulled her up the alley. To her surprise, he left the horse, cart, and shovel as he pulled her along.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 123.456 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

things that need to be figured in

Homoth frames Baet and challenges him to a duel.

Krumpus returns and is confronted by Sephonie.