Excergie

Polished 15.1 and 15.2. This chapter needs lots of work — 25m22s — 2021/08/01

Polished 15.2 and worked on the rest of the chapter — 46m58s — 2021/08/02

Polished 15 and worked a bit on 17 — 53m45s — 2021/08/02

Polished 15.1 and 15.2 — 23m24s — 2021/08/03

Worked on 15.4 — 40m25s — 2021/08/06

Polished 15.1 and 15.2. Worked on 15.3 — 40m39s — 2021/08/14

Moved 15.1 to 14.1. Moved 14.6 to 15.1, and 15.4 to 15.2. Polished 15.3. Deleted 15.4 and polished the new 15.4 (or, generally, moved everything and polished it all at the same time…) — 38m04s — 2021/08/25

Malcolm realized Crea was going south with or without him, so he agreed quick enough, and ran after her. He still planned to carry his post to Land’s End, but he hoped Crea’s family might have a few fighters willing to take him to the ducal seat, so for now he’d take a detour and pray to Abr that it was worth it.

Malcolm and Crea stuck to the game trails that ran through the forest. Crea claimed to know the area well enough and felt they were less likely to be discovered among the thick of the trees—which was about as much as she was willing to say. The silence didn’t bother Malcolm at all. He preferred not to speak, knowing there were likely enemies about.

Crea and Malcolm passed a number of farmsteads. It was worrisome each time they came across a burned out house, though just as many were whole and still occupied. They always passed at a distance, whether the farm was burnt out or not. A few times they were spotted. Farmhands watched them go as they held hay-forks, shovels, and the occasional sword in a threatening manner. But these peoples were not interested in chasing skulkers through the forest, and so Crea and Malcolm continued on, unmolested. They walked most the day—and then for a while more as it grew dark—but the shade of the trees made in nearly impossible to see where they were going. Malcolm begged Crea to stop. She finally thought better of it, and the two set out their blankets for the night.

Malcolm tried to lay next to Crea, but she pushed him away. “I’m not a pillow!” she said, and cursed at the boy, which he felt was totally unnecessary. Sulking in the dark, Malcolm laid out his blankets and dreamed of a far more accommodating Crea.

The next day, Crea continued to press their march. Malcolm was quite astounded by her stamina, considering she had a delicate look about her, especially with such heavy bruising that show under the edges of her dress. He liked her determination, and found himself staring at her shapely goodness as he followed her through the woods.

Soon, the full heat of the day pressed upon them. Crea stopped at the crest of a hill. With a gasp, she dropped to her knees, and began to cry. “No… no…” Malcolm heard her whisper.

“What is it?” he asked as he rushed to catch up, then stared over the hill at a burned out house, barn, and privy. He realized this must be her family’s home, and felt his heart sink. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and moved to wrap her in a comforting hug.

Crea pushed him away. Her demeanor grew dark. “Don’t,” she snapped at him. With her hands to her eyes, Crea spoke again. “Will you go look? I can’t stand the thought…” she began. She didn’t have to finish as they both imagined the worst.

Malcolm turned to the charred remains of the house. There was no smoke. Likely, the raiders had left some time before. “I’ll call if there’s anything you can do,” he told her as he took off his pack. He pulled his sword, and with a gulp, marched to the burned out buildings. He hoped for survivors, but feared an ambush. He thought he should tell Crea to take the post to Land’s End if he were killed, but thought she’d consider him dumb. Most people assumed the dead had no use of oaths.

“Hello?” Malcolm called into the house as he crept at the edges of the ruin. Thanks to copious holes in the roof, there was plenty of light as he ventured inside. His heart jumped and he gasped as he discovered the twisted and charred remains of two humans. They were wrapped in an embrace with their heads tilted back in a silent scream. He glanced about to make sure he was the only one there, and then simply stared for several long seconds at the tortured souls.

Malcolm continued to search the property and found five more dead; another burned in the house, one bled to death outside the barn, and two more in the barn that were hanged and then burned. The last he found in the field as he returned to Crea. He shook his head, and her crying intensified, although she did so silently. “How many?” she asked.

“Seven,” he answered.

Crea mouthed the word, then gathered the hem of her dress and ran toward the house.

“Wait!” He called and ran after her. “You can’t unsee it!”

Crea broke down and sobbed uncontrollably when see saw the first of them dead in the field. She turned and ran back to Malcolm. She grabbed his hand—and a bolt of thrill ran up his arm at the touch of her. “One of them is missing!” she told him. “Tell me of the others you saw!”

“There were two in the barn, and one outside it. There were three in the house,” he explained.

“Men? Women? How big were they!?” She yelled.

“I…” Malcolm shook his head. “Some are too badly burned,” he said barely above a whisper.

“But only seven…” Crea noted and put her hand to her chest. “I think maybe my sister is missing.”

“Young? Younger?” Malcolm asked.

Crea nodded. “She’d be smaller than the others.”

With a sincere nod, Malcolm stepped toward the house and stared at the corpses for several minutes. They all seemed large and full grown. He searched the burned buildings once more as Crea went into the field and yelled for her sister.

“Serra!” she called. “Serrabela!”

Malcolm didn’t like the yelling. He thought it might attract the marauders—but only the crows answered Crea’s call. For a time Malcolm hoped beyond hope that a younger and cleaner version of Crea might creep from some hidey-hole and throw herself around him in thanks for the rescue. Instead, he glanced down the privy on a whim and found her floating face down among the waste. Her dress was covered in bloody splotches.

Malcolm stepped through the field and laid a hand on Crea’s shoulder. She jumped away from him and put her hand to the pommel of her fancy falchion. Malcolm shied away from her and shook his head. “She’s… she didn’t make it.”

“Where?!” Crea asked.

Malcolm simply shook his head, unwilling to tell her.

Crea pushed past him, but he grabbed her arm. “Nonononono!!!” his eyes bugged. “It isn’t pretty!”

Her face went angry, and for a second, he thought she was going to fight him. Then the unexpected happened, and Crea rushed into his arms, weeping and wailing. Her touch was a salve to his worried soul. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back and hair. “I could bury them,” he said as she finally began to calm. “I will put them in the earth for you.”

Crea turned to the farm, then slowly shook her head. “No,” she said. “Their spirits have fled this place. Let their bodies benefit the crows.” With that, she turned and began to walk.

“Where are you going?” Malcolm asked.

Crea shrugged. “There is nowhere I wish to be,” she answered without looking back. “Let us honor your oath and go to Land’s End.”

Malcolm felt his spirit soar as he followed after her. To think he’d spend another week with this wonderful—if fragile—girl at his side!

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 15.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Banifourd glanced about the small gathering of cottages and barns as they burned. This was the ninth village they'd sacked since Solveny in half as many days. He thought once they were on the plains, they might proceed rather quickly to Gaur lands—but they'd already circled back twice on their quest to kill and destroy with seeming abandon.

Still, Banifourd offered no complaint. He knew better. Instead, he dunked a rag in a barrel of rainwater and wiped away the filth and blood of yet another sacking, as he held a bottle of Noethrin Sour in his free hand.

Petaerus huffed. “The killing is not yet done, and you are already drinking?”

“There is no else to fight," Banifourd shrugged. "Unless you would have me fight women and children—and then I might as well be drunk. Besides, I am ordered to leave some alive, to tell of the Gaur officer that rides among these Trohl berserkers," he sneered. "I do my part. I'm sure that I'm seen and that my mischief is genuine."

An outrider approached, his face pale as he stopped to grovel before Petaerus. "Sir! A column of men comes from the north baring the arms of the High Plains!"

"How many?" Petaerus asked.

"Hundreds!? Certainly too many for us! If we hope to fight 'em, we must find the others!"

"So the Count of the High Plains has finally found us,” Petaerus smiled. “Spread the world, we ride out with all possible haste," he smiled as he noted the look of astonishment on Banifourd's face. "What is it, sir? You look as if you've seen a ghost?"

"No more dillydallying?” Banifourd asked. “No more slaughter of peasants? We finally make for Gaur?!"

"Yes—though I fear it will still be some time before you finally see your home," Petaerus sneered.

This sounded like a threat. With a curse, Banifourd dropped the rag and grabbed the hilt of his sword. He meant to make Petaerus explain himself—but something struck him from behind. His world went dark as he slumped to the ground.

"Holy Ooroiyuo!” Petaerus snorted at Dolif. “If I wanted him dead, I would have hit him myself!" the copal hopped off his horse and approached the prone Gaur.

"He ain't dead," Dolif hoped. "See? He breathes."

“Well, thank the gods for small favors,” Petaerus hissed. He pulled a messenger bag off his horse and wrapped it under Banifourd’s arm, then dug about Banifourd's person. He found the man's purse and pulled Gliedian's gold sol from it, then snagged several coins for himself.

“Take it all,” Dolif suggested.

Petaerus disagreed. “A man with no purse is suspicious indeed.” He turned to the unconscious form of Banifourd. "I shall not say it was a pleasure to know you. Despite your high opinion of yourself, I find you inept and slow to learn. I only hope you can manage one last part we have designed for you. It should be easy enough, you need only play at being witless," he smiled, then opened a small container and smudged a finger of some lotion around Banifourd's lips. He rimmed the man's nose with the cream, then wiped his hand on the dirt floor to remove any excess.

"What is that?" Dolif asked.

“Just a little something to make him dumb for a day or two. Likely they will think he was hit too hard and his brains are rattled. Then they must trust his documents,” Petaerus explained.

"If that is the case, it is not possible that I hit him too hard!" Dolif stated.

Petaerus shook his head. "I was told very specifically not to kill him."

“I do not see why," Dolif scratched his head. "If he were dead, there is no hope of betrayal.”

Petaerus shook his head. “We play a long game, my friend. There is no reason to kill off valuable players with such haste. After all, a play requires puppets," he stood and spit on Banifourd. "Come now,” he said to Dolif. “We must make haste, yeah?"

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 15.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

It'd been nearly a month since Paye had any visitors at the house in Excergie; since her cousin, Scurra, stopped through on her way out west, to find her brother. After nearly a year of being mostly alone, Paye was beginning to miss people. She'd made a few introductions in town, but never had them over, as she preferred her own company. After all, she needed to heal—and heal she did, to a good extent.

But now Paye hungered for interaction and thought if she did not have social engagement soon, she might forget how to talk to people altogether. For several days, she considered what she might do as she stuck to her solitary routine. Should she throw a party, or simply go to dinner at one of the beautiful inns about town? Should she seek out a society of painters, thinkers, or knitters? Maybe she'd just have a few friendly faces over for a bit of tea one of these bright afternoons? Or perhaps a few neighbors for a cozy dinner and gossip? Buried under so many grand options, Paye managed to implement none of them—and then her cousin returned from her excursion in Bouge lands—with some dozen others in tow.

Paye ran from the house and gathered Scurra in her arms as she looked among her cousin’s company. She recognized several—and of course the dour face of her brother—but one was most notably missing. "Where’s Krumpus?" She asked in a hushed whisper.

"I found him," Scurra shook her head, "and then I lost him."

“Ohhh….” Paye frowned and wrapped Scurra in her arms once more.

Scurra shook her head. "I'm fine, but we have injured among us. Will you go to town and bring the best healers?" she said as she wiped her eyes. "Bring the peacekeepers too."

Paye glanced among the others. She waved to the few she knew as she ran toward town. She noticed foreigners, Saots by the look of it, and a man as dark as night. They seemed pleasant enough. She wondered if they were the need for peacekeepers. In short order, Paye returned to the house with two physicians, four midwives, and half a dozen armed men from the local militia.

The peacekeepers went with Duboha and the Saots to hear the charges against Meriona, Grunther, and Naiphan, then took them to the local jail, while Paye went inside with the healers, so they might see to the injured.

There was little more to be done for Toar. The shrapnel from the Pemberton GremSorter was all removed from his face by Celesi's deft hand. His bandages were changed and he was given a drought to help his blood and allow him a restful sleep. After that, he was left to heal.

Andrus was in high spirits as a cute midwife gave him a pipe of conicle to ease his pain. His chest was deeply bruised, and his shoulder was sore. The worst of it was some minor fractures in his ribs, all of which simply required a bit of time. He too was given a drought and left to heal.

The worst of them was Komotz, whom needed a good deal of work and another heavy dose of numb root while the physicians and midwives ascertained the great extent of his injuries. They reset several of his bones that were jostled by the hard road—or were not properly set in the first place—and concocted a curative potion for the man to drink twice a day. Although the numb root worked wonders for his pain, it continued to cause him digestive discomfort. Komotz purged several more times before one of the midwives insisted they change him to a different medicine, oblivia, a drug that would put the man out completely with no intestinal distress—though it had other drawbacks. For one, it caused issues with some of the stronger herbs used in his curative, so the potion had to be reformulated. In the mean time, Komotz soiled several sets of bedding and bandages as the numb root slowly worked its way out of his system.

Once again, Paye carried stained sheets through the hall. She stopped as she passed the room that housed the young Bouge with powder burns over half his face. One of the Saots sat on the edge of his bed and talked to the injured youth.

"That'll be the way of it," he said—though Toar slept. "It'll be a fine day at the ocean, if your game to come..." Sensing that they were no longer alone, the guard stopped in mid sentence. He turned and stared at Paye.

His gaze was direct and unwavering, which unsettled the Jindelyak lady. She clutched the soiled sheets all the more tightly as she stepped into the room. "To see the ocean would be a fine day indeed," she smiled.

The Saot smiled back. “You speak the fickle tongue of the kingdom. How 'bout that?"

“The family does a fair bit of trade in Land's End,” Paye shrugged. “It helps to know what the locals are saying.”

“I should imagine so,” the Saot gave her a sideways smile. “I wish I knew a word of your language.”

“Why didn’t you go hunting with the others?” Paye asked the stranger. “There are plenty of us here to watch the injured.”

“I’ve done enough hunting in my day.”

“Most men hunt for life,” Paye noted. “If they did not, how would we eat?”

“Perhaps if I hunted game…” he shrugged.

“If it is not game, what do you hunt?” Paye asked.

“Mostly, men,” the stranger admitted. “From time to time it’s a woman,” he clarified with a cold stare. “Once it was a child.” He turned away as he admitted this. “But that’s all in the past, I think. My hunting days are all but done.”

“Now you’re paid to play nursemaid?” Paye asked.

“Maybe it’s time I started putting people together instead of taking them apart,” the stranger suggested. “But no, now I guard.”

“And what is it that you guard?” Paye asked.

The Saot shrugged. “Mostly the duke—but today I have another charge. Would you like to see?”

Paye flinched. There was a troublesome glint in the man’s eye, and she’d be daft not to recognize that he could be dangerous. Still, she was intrigued. “Okay,” she agreed and wondered if this was against her better judgement.

He smiled as he stood. "I don't think we've been properly introduced,” he said and stretched out a hand. “I'm Baetolamew. But please, call me Baet."
“Paye. Paye Trandhill,” she smiled as she pushed the sheets into his outstretched hand. “Bring these down to the wash bucket, and then you can show me what it is that you guard.”

Baet followed the woman out back and dropped the sheets in a tub of soapy water.

“So,” Paye stared at the man, arms akimbo. “What is it that you guard?”

Baet gave a nod, and with a mischievous smile, waved her to the barn. “It’s this way.”

Paye frowned as the man led her through the barn. He lifted a secret hatch that revealed steep stairs that he should not know about. She paused as she already knew what was at the bottom: a cell for one’s enemies. She shook her head. “How do you know of this place?” she asked.

“Your cousins knew of it. They showed me when we put the prisoner down here,” Baet explained. “You were in town.”

Paye shook her head. “The prisoners all went with the peacekeepers.”

“Not this one. Come on,” Baet nodded. “I’ll lead.” And with that, he began down the stairs.

Reluctantly, Paye followed.

“It’s okay,” Baet assured her. “I was told that you can be trusted. Indeed, Aim noted that he trusts you a fair deal more than he trusts me,” the Saot guard nodded. “Now see here?” He said as he glanced around the corner.

Paye peeked around the corner, her eyes still adjusting to the dark. For a long second she saw nothing, then movement. She gasped as a large beast shifted it weight and glared at her through the bars. “Is that…?!” she began.

“A naga,” Baet nodded. “The others thought we shouldn’t bother you with him, but I feel it is best you know,” the guard admitted. “I’m a bit over secrets.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 15.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Scurra, Wenifas, and Celesi returned to the cottage, their arms full of food and needed supplies. Elpis approached from the house. “How did it go?” he asked in Ministrian, since it was the only language they all spoke.

“We talked to the peacekeepers first,” Scurra nodded. “The trial is the day after tomorrow. They’ve already got a few other cases to hear, so the necessary officers will all be available. I told them we’d likely need a few hours, but that did not bother them. Apparently many of the general populace won’t quit peppering the peacekeepers with questions. I guess the rumor mill is wild with speculations.”

Tomorrow,“ Wenifas repeated. “Will we be ready by then?” she asked, curious about the Jindleyak legal process.

“How long does it take to prepare the truth?” Elpis shrugged. “Did you post the letters I gave you?”

Scurra nodded. “There were several Toilers heading for Ebertin. They took the duty for a pittance.”

Elpis smiled, “The Toilers are a good bunch. Thank you.”

“What’s back in Ebertin anyway?” Celesi asked, not thinking about it.

Wenifas sucked her teeth as Elpis stared at the young lady. “There is much to be done for the relatives of Lady Yandira,” he noted. Not wanting to say anything more about that, he turned back to Scurra. “Homoth took the post and a spare horse and rode for Hearthstone.”

“Good,” Scurra nodded. “I think it’s best if the rest of us continue on after the trial. Nothing against him personally, but trouble seems to follow this duke. I’d prefer to have him in Hearthstone as soon as possible.”

“Do you think the others will leave Komotz?” Elpis asked.

Scurra shrugged. “We’ll see what the others think about it. Speaking of the others, where is everyone?”

Elpis pointed and looked to the hills—though his wonky left eye still stared at the ladies. “Duboha and Aim took Carringten hunting. Baet is about the house under Creigal’s order. He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the naga. He showed the prisoner to Paye. As for the duke and Meu—I haven’t seen them since about the time you left.”