Official Acts
Polished 18.1 — 45m47s — 2021/09/03
Polished 18.1 and 18.4 — 2h14m33s — 2021/09/09
Polished 18.1 and began to write 18.2 — 50m40s — 2021/09/10
Finished 18.2 and began to write 18.3 — 41m27s — 2021/09/11
Polished 18.2 and 18.3 — 1h05m44s — 2021/09/13
Polished 17.5 and wrote the new 18.3 — 1h30m18s — 2021/09/21
Polished 18.3, 18.5, and 18.6 — 1h50m44s — 2021/09/24
Polished 18.7, 18.8, and 18.9 — 1h45m59s — 2021/09/27
Polished 18.2 — 1h19m45s — 2022/01/26
Polished 18.2, 18.6, 18.7, 18.8, and 18.9. Needs to be reordered — 1h58m05s — 2022/01/28
Moved shit around and did a little polishing — 50m07s — 2022/01/29
Meriona is attacked.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
A day later, the entourage arrived at the estate of Azra Trandhill. They turned off the main road and made for the entrance of a small valley. They passed under a large iron gate though there was no fence to either side. Field hands paused in their duties to stare at the new arrivals. At first, the children were timid, and the dogs stayed with them, until Paye showed herself. They shouted her name and rushed forward to say hello, then escorted the company up the drive, while their parents stayed in the fields. After half a mile or so, the company came to a collection of buildings, including the main house, which was built of stone and sported a spire that was five stories high. There were a collection of buildings, practically making it a small village.
The steward stepped from the massive house. He bowed to the strangers, hugged his cousins, and kissed Paye’s hand. “Your grandfather will be delighted you have arrived,” he said to the lady, then turned to Creigal. “Hello, my lord. Azra is most anxious to meet you. He is on the back patio and has asked that you join him for some refreshment.”
Creigal dismounted and accompanied the steward.
In the backyard, there was food and drink aplenty. The company was introduced to Azra Trandhill, a massive old man as thick as a tree. Despite his stature, the old bear grimaced and hobbled as he approached his granddaughter, so he might wrap her in a hug.
A number of children circulated among the adults with pointed observations and questions aplenty. These interrogations were slowed by an assortment of cookies, cakes, fruits, punches, and such. The children laughed, poked each other, and played to the far reaches of the lawn; only to return and ask another round of superficial questions—then pilfer the table laden with sweets. They were all introduced, and several were said to be the shaman’s own children—though they were impossible to tell from the others as they scurried about the lawn.
Carringten was a favorite of the children, with his dark and foreboding countenance. Having grown used to being stared at, the captain was affable and attentive, even as he teased.
The Saot and the Trohl both spoke affably, though they did so in Ministrian, which intrigued Toar. To think these two congenial gentlemen found peace while speaking the language of their common enemy was quite fascinating to the native guide. A consummate host, Azra pledged his house and plenty to the duke and his men. Creigal assured that he would not stay long, and explained his quest to the Trohl patriarch in fine detail.
Quite satisfied with each other, Azra left the duke to his leisure, so he might attend other responsibilities. The gathering broke up. Roustich took his horse and rode for hearthstone with a description of Humbert. Krumpus took Meu to meet his wife since she only lived a little further up the canyon, another mile or so. Wenifas and the sister went with them.
Toar went to get a lay of the land and hoped to explore the barn, as Celesi stalked after him. Creigal retired to his room so he might write a few letters. Carringten joined Duboha and Aim for a workout, while Paye went to talk to her brother, all of which left Baet to his own devices. He went in search of a bath and was taken to a deep pool in the river where the locals often swam.
Baet anticipated slow days ahead with little responsibility. He let the refreshing waters wash away his worries, which were few and light these days. The duke was as safe as he’d ever been, probably safer. There was a peace between him and the priestess. He had Cloud Breaker back. Best of all, the lady Paye kept making eyes at him. The Saot guard leaned back, smiled, and closed his eyes as he floated; surprised that life should be so easy after months of hardship. He swam in cool waters with a warm sun overhead for over an hour before he was interrupted.
“Baetolamew,” he heard his captain say.
“Yes, sir,” he answered, suspecting a shift in the winds. “What is it?”
“Your presence is required,” Carringten ordered.
Baet frowned as he made for the near bank. Surprises that required one’s own eye were often quite serious. The junior guard followed Carringten to the barn, where there were dozen of men, including an angry duke. “Is it the naga?” Baet asked, thinking there could be no other trouble.
Carringten didn’t answer. The issue was apparent as soon as Baet stepped further into the barn. With a deep frown on his grizzled face, Azra held the ornament Paye had pried off the wall, the giant crest in the form of an Oak and Beast, with Baet’s own pack at his feet.
All eyes turned to the Saot guard. “Now wait a minute,” Baet began—then proceeded to protest his innocence—but there were witnesses galore to say that the ornament was found in his pack. Dumbstruck at the voracity of the charges, the guard noted Homoth and his satisfied smirk.
“This was your doing!” Baet raged, and took a step toward the youth.
Carringten grabbed Baet and held him back.
“So this is how you repay us?!” Homoth jumped from his seat and took several steps forward. “We brought you out of Ebertin, to the safety of our own homes; and despite our kindness, you seek to rob us!” he huffed.
Toar interpreted.
“I would never…” Baet began. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the look of a disappointed duke. “This is not my doing.”
Homoth stepped forward. “If you will not admit to the crime, then I shall prove it, with the folly of your death!”
“Did you just challenge me?!” Baet couldn’t believe this was really happening, that the Jindleyak had set him up, over cards and a handful of silver—and now he expected a duel? He turned to the face the others in the room. He spotted Paye and locked eyes with the woman. Her face was red and streaked with tears. He remembered her taking the ornament from above the mantle. Paye stared back at the man, shock and fear on her face. With wide eyes, and her hand over her mouth, she shook her head, turned, and rushed from the scene.
Despite his protests, Baet was stripped of his weapons, taken into the house, and dragged through a twist of halls, down several sets of stairs, and no end of confining tunnels. Eventually, he and his escort arrived at a large room with a series of cells, one of which held the naga, Maligno. Thoroughly turned around and despondent, Baet was placed in his own cell. Without any fuss, he sat on the cot and ignored the chuckles of Maligno.
An hour passed, then another. A small plate of plain food was brought by some unknown cousin. Baet complained. “I get a sorry lump of bread and some broth—yet you bring the naga fresh fried fish?” The jailer frowned, turned, and walked out without a word.
Of late, Baet was well fed, so he ignored the crusty lump and tepid broth. He paced the small cell instead. He exercised about the small room, since he had so much energy. Would the brother really insist on a duel? What would Creigal do about all this? Surely, he could not believe the charges. How long might he be in this pickle before the duke could clear his name? Would he be able to convince Azra that his impetuous grandson had framed the good guard? Baet paused as he realized his fate rested solely in the duke’s hands. No, he thought. He had to believe that Creigal would help him out. After all, he saved the man’s life in Wibbeley.
Minutes crawled by, slowly adding to the hours. The door to the jail creaked open. Another plate appeared around the corner and Baet wondered why they were bringing him another meal so soon. Then he noticed the smell: roasted beef and vegetables, fresh fruit and delicate cakes—and that wasn’t even the best part! The best part was that the plate was carried by Paye!
Paye put on a strong front. She smiled despite her puffy red eyes.
“Thank you,” Baet smiled as he accepted the beautiful plate, piled high with delights. His appetite soared as he assumed such a plate meant his stock was on the rise. “Did you tell them?” he began. “Did you admit that it was you that took the precious curiosity?”
“I did,” Paye said, though she shook her head, “EWven so, my grandfather is convinced of your villainy.”
“But you were there!” Baet said. “How can he discount you?”
“Do you know why I was in Excergie?” Paye replied. “I was in exile—self imposed—but exile nonetheless. Last time I was here, I was caught stealing a pair of earrings from my niece. I know, a pair of earrings—but it wasn’t any set of dangles. It was a fine family heirloom. I was unrepentant. When I realized I was not only caught, but had also played the fool, I left. They were happy to see me go. They hoped to se me change—and I did—but they wouldn’t know it. And now my brother has convinced my grandfather that you and I are in league. Indeed, I am doing you no favor by bringing you this plate.”
“What?” Baet began. “How?”
“I was duped,” Paye shrugged. “He is my grandfather’s favorite. He was very kind to me in Excergie, and the letter he wrote said he wanted the ornament so he could shine it and show it to my grandfather. You see, it was a gift from an old friend that recently passed away, and Azra hasn’t seen it in years,” she explained. “You see, we are both framed. I went to get the letter from my room, to prove my case, but it was not there. Homoth must have stole it, and if he has not destroyed it, I’m sure he will soon. He’s not the type to keep incriminating evidence around.”
“Did you say Homoth is your brother?”
“He is,” Paye nodded. “And I fear he will kill you. He is a very good fighter.”
Baet shook his head. “But I shall choose the weapon, and I shall choose the musket. He cannot beat me with a pistol.”
Paye stared at the man, fascination and terror etched around her worried eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
“And why wouldn’t I?” Baet replied. “He demands a duel, so I will kill him. After all, that is justice. He has framed us, and hubris has led him to commit the ultimate folly. Before the gods, he has threatened to prove a thing that cannot be proved, for I am not guilty! I shall have the gods on my side! Indeed, he has wronged you too!”
“But he is my brother!” Paye snapped.
Baet stared back at her. “Well, tell him to drop the charge! I don’t want to kill him—but it sure beats dying!”
Paye glared at the man. She shook the bars of the cell door. “Don’t you dare kill him!” she raged. “Don’t you dare!”
“And what would you have me do?!” Baet retorted. He set his plate aside, stood and stepped to the door of his cage. “Would you have me die?!”
Paye stared at the man, her face twisted and pained. A tear ran from her eye.
As heated as he was, and staring at such a beautiful and passionate woman, Baet couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, wrapped his hands around her head, and planted his lips against hers before she could deny him. Engrossed with the silky fineness of her lips, Baet slowly pulled away. Did she feel it too? With a dreamy fog filling his head, Baet stared longingly into the lady’s eyes.
Paye stared back at the man, shocked and intrigued. Her eyes narrowed. Her hand flew up and slapped the man—then, before he could get out of her reach—she grabbed him, pulled him against the bars, and kissed him back.
Baet could taste the salt from her tears. He longed to kiss her until she was happy as their hands grabbed at each other—but after a few minutes of such desperate touching, Paye turned and ran from the room, weeping.
“Wait!” Baet called after her—but she did not return. With a heavy sigh, he stared about the cell, then sloughed down to the floor. “Balls,” he cursed.
A couple cell’s over, the naga chuckled as he gnawed at the bones of his fish.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.theHowling +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Break for chapter 19 — start 19 with Crea swinging her sword and Malcolm totally enamored with the girl.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Scurra, Meu, and Wenifas go to see the shaman’s widow—only to find Krumpus being attacked by Sephonie. In the end, Wenifas and Krumpus are left alone so the shaman might have a word with the priestess.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
(Word of Humbert reaches Creigal)
save for 18
That evening, word of Humbert arrives.
Carringten produced a portrait of Humbert that was fair to his likeness along with a description of the man. Roustich rode into Hearthstone proper that he might ask after the thief. He returned an hour after dark.
Duboha ushered his cousin and two strangers into the room where Creigal waited. "You’ve seen our thief?" the duke asked.
The two men nodded. “We spoke to the man,” the first confirmed. He turned to his companion. "What would you say? A month ago? Maybe two?”
“Maybe two,” his friend shrugged. “His clothes were worn. He must have been on the road for weeks. He seemed a bit free with his coin.”
“And what convinces you it was this same man?” Creigal continued.
“One does not forget a man looking for the Dreadlord Lasitus,” the first said with wild eyes.
Creigal leaned back.
“This is a superstition that many people have,” Roustich explained. “They believe this Lasitus has ruled the wastes near Melmorahn for several hundred years.”
“But you do not believe it?”
Roustich shook his head. “The man came north over two hundred years ago.”
“Yes, well, he was a hundred and seventy-three when he stole the King’s Nnak Stone,” Creigal began.
Duboha frowned, “that is not possible.”
“It is possible, if one is well-versed in the dark arts,” Creigal explained. “To think that Lasitus might still be alive, out in wilds, you say? He did not settle in one of your cities or towns?”
“He took a bit wilderness for his own,” Roustich said. “Nobody goes there. Whether or not the Dreadlord lives, it is deadth to enter his realm.”
“Death you say?” Creigal stared at the man. “Then I expect we will find the corpse of Humbert waiting for us at the border.”
“Do you think this Lasitus might still be alive?” Roustich asked.
Creigal shrugged. “Who am I to say? I have heard of those that live so long—though they are in little condition to do much of anything without their entourage of sycophants.”
“He is alive!” the first stranger stared at the duke.
Duboha snorted.
The man turned to Duboha. “If it is not him, what haunts the blight?!”
Duboha shrugged. “There is so much evil in the world. Who is to say?”
“Perhaps it is Lasitus, perhaps it is not,” Creigal began. “The only thing that matters is that Humbert believes that he lives, and if Humbert goes to find Lasitus, then I go to find Lasitus.” The duke locked his eyes on the two strangers. “Will you guide us?”
The two strangers turned white as sheets. They stared at each other and began shaking their heads.
“Leave these two be,” Roustich said. “There are plenty of men that can point us toward the tomb of this Lasitus.”
“Then you believe he is dead?” Creigal asked the militiaman.
“Four hundred years? Seems nigh impossible to me,” Roustich shrugged. “Still, these men are not wrong to fear the blight.”
“What do you know of it?” Creigal asked the Jindleyaks.
The four glanced about each other, none having anything to say. “Nothing but rumor,” Roustich said.
“Well, we are not without teeth,” Creigal noted. “Still, we shall take precautions.”
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Meu Begs Creigal to Go South with Her
save for 18
Forget this mad hunt, Meu whispered in the duke’s head. Come south with me.
Creigal frowned. He had no interest in returning home, not at this time. "If I cannot remember my daughter, at least I would forget my sons for a while more,” he replied.
I fear for you, Meu stared at the man. I’ve talked to the locals. They’ve told me wild tales of this blighted north.
“I suspect some exaggeration in their tales,” Creigal surmised. “Still, we mean to be cautious.”
Will you never go home? Meu asked.
"After I find Humbert,” the duke said. “I don’t know how long it will take. A few months more…”
And what if you should lose him again? Will you chase him forever? Meu pressed a finger into Creigal’s chest. I fear you trade your duchy for a phantom.
Creigal shrugged. “The duchy is meant to outlive me.”
Do you want me to outlive you too? Meu asked.
For a time, Creigal imagined going south. He imagined going home and holding councils of war with various captains—only to sneak off, so he he might be alone with Meu. He imagined meeting her in one of his walled gardens, of long conversations about his various flowers. “You have complicated my life, and I am not sad about that,” he told her.
We are not so old, Meu noted. Take me south, and I will be your mistress. Gaurring Heart is not so far from Haltbrush, especially since I fly. I will happily split time between the two of you.
“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. I'll have you and my daughter nearby, and that will be enough. I will forget the Spires of Gendilou.
Creigal shook his head. “Either way, I will be without my daughter, and I will have forsaken her memory on top of it,” he frowned. “I cannot. Not yet. I know where Humbert goes. I must stay the course and confront the thief. Then, when I am done, I will come for you.”
What of your dreams of dying?
“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 from me."
You take such a dour view, Meu noted. What if it should be one of the grandchildren you already have? 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 him,” he noted. Creigal kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry that it distresses you, and I wish I could alleviate your fear, but I must go north.”
Well, I am with you for a little while longer, Meu replied. Hold me. Kiss me again, and promise to come for me when your mad hunt is done.
“I promise,” he said as he pulled her close.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.7 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Creigal wrote several letters. The first he wrote to the Dunkel’s of Land’s End, saying his people played no part in the sacking of Solveny or the of the growing troubles in the Noeth. Any Gaur men among these bandits were acting against the Duke and considered to be traitors, to be captured and punished accordingly. He also stated that Gaurring would broke no interference in her own internal affairs, and that any act against the Duchy would be seen as an act of war. He made a copy of this letter and addressed it to Rathar of High Plains so he might also have the duke’s words.
Creigal next letter her wrote to Varius and his councilmen, to let them know of his whereabouts, and also his intentions. It also included the news he had of the north.
The final letter was addressed to the Gaurring public, and was to be read and disseminated throughout the duchy with all possible haste.
With his correspondence written, the duke needed a courier. For a time, Creigal thought to send Baet. He thought he might argue for the gaurd’s release—perhaps if he guaranteed the guard would never return—but the idea didn’t sit well with the duke and so he abandoned it. He would have to look to the natives for a courier. He took the matter to Azra.
“I'll go,” Andrus volunteered upon hearing the request. “The weather turns. Winter isn't far behind and I've never had any special love of the snow.”
“There will be snow in Gaurring,” Creigal noted. “We’re not that far south.”
“Yes, but not as much,” Andrus replied. “Besides, who doesn't long to see the ocean?”
"You are certainly not going that far south,” the duke said. “The journey is not without it’s dangers. If the wrong people catch you carrying my letters, it’ll be your death.”
“Then I shall do my best not to get caught,” Andrus said. “Nothing in this world is without risk, and when taking risks it is best to focus on the aspects that bring joy to the adventure.”
Creigal shook his head. “Still, your Saot is not the strongest.”
“I shall have ample time to study,” Andrus replied. “I shall have little to say until I reach Gaurring Heart anyway.”
Creigal smiled. He liked Andrus, and although he was young and a bit impetuous, he knew his options were limited. He felt the young Jindleyak would be fine as long as he kept his head down and his eyes up. “We shall have you stay clear of the capital. It is crawling with spies. Instead, you will go to Bastion's Crossing—still, it is not the duchy that worries me. I'm more concerned with Land's End and delivery of the letter to the Dunkels. It must be done with care.”
“Once I am in town, shall I hire a post runner to see it delivered to court?” Andrus asked.
Creigal smiled, happy to hear such quick thinking from the man. Still, he shook his head. “No. I’d prefer the letter appear as a mystery to the Dunkels—all at once and within their personal quarters. I’d like them to think I am closer than they might find comfortable—and I cannot ask you to do this. Instead, you will deliver it to a spy of mine, a careful and cunning man, that’s been in their city for the last couple years. He shall see that the letter is delivered,” Creigal instructed. “How soon can you leave?”
“There are a few things I must square away,” Andrus shrugged. “How is the day after tomorrow?”
Creigal nodded. “ I have no money of my own, but I shall give you a letter for the price of your employ. You shall also bring back coin to repay the money I borrowed.”
Andrus nodded. “All of this will take me months. I cannot do it for less than three sovereign.”
“I shall pay you three for the trip down, and I shall pay you three for the trip back,” Creigal said. “The papers will be ready by noon tomorrow.”
Quite pleased with their arrangement, Andrus gave a crisp bow, and strode from the room.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.8 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.10 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Toar tells Celesi his secret. Celesi cries to Wenifas. Wenifas reveals that she's pregnant. Andrus approaches Celesi as she plays with the kittens.
chapter 18 (after Creigal talks to Meu)
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. This place is safe.”
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.
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 their 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.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.8 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
Carringten led Baet to the barn. There were Jindleyak all about it—possibly to make sure the Saots didn’t try anything funny? Baet wondered. None of the natives were inside. There was only Creigal, sitting in a chair, in the middle of a wide open area. Once inside, Carringten waited at the door while Baet approached, then sat with the duke. “You must know I was framed,” Baet said.
“Were you now?” Creigal replied.
Baet nodded. “By Homoth.”
Eyebrows arched as Creigal continued to stare. “And what did you do that you angered him so much that he would frame you?”
Baet bowed his head and Creigal knew he was not completely innocent. Still, the guard argued, “Ask Paye, the sister. She will tell you the truth of it,” he said as he glanced about the barn.
“I will do no such thing?”
“The guard is not very good,” Baet told him. “It’d be easy enough for Carringten to get the key and let me out. Then I shall join you on your way north.”
“I will ride north in full view of our new friends, and you will remain to face your fate,” the duke answered.
“If you do not break me out, I will have to duel the man, and then I shall have to kill him,” Baet shook his head. “I’d rather not,” he explained. Still, he could tell that his argument was not persuading the duke. He tried a different tact. “I have pledged to keep you safe. How will I honor my oath?” he asked.
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. It was quickly replaced with a frown. "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’ve long known that the words of a con are not to be trusted. I allowed myself to believe he would stay in the garden, that he would forget the house and all its possessions," Baet held out the palms of his hands.
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 for this, to confront you once I’d captured the thief,” he began. “I meant to 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 then by what stupidity 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. You are normally not so stupid that you might steal a garish ornament, no matter how pretty or pricey—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 name to tarnish yours?”
Creigal stared at his guard while Baet stared at his feet.
“Since Wibbeley you’ve served me well—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 me with these natives? 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.”
“What reasons have you given him to hate you?” Creigal glared at his guard. “You are careless, just as you were with Humbert! This Homoth, have you not noticed his rising anger? Did it come upon you so unexpected? Are you not a talented and decorated spy?! Have you lost all sense of 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 after this evening, I will have nothing more to do with you," he admonished. “Yet, there is hope for you—if you can navigate yourself out of this quandary,” he shook his head. “If you can see yourself through this, there is a chance of a rich rewarding life for you yet. But 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 took an involuntary step forward. He 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 face changed, suspicious and aggrieved, he stared at the guard. “Yet, it was your betrayal that allowed my enemies to move against me and kill my guards, with some of my favorite men among them,” Creigal closed fist, full of glittering metal. He opened it again. “If I should give you all this coin, I am justified. 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.” Baet simply stared back at his lord. The duke set the coins on the table, counted out two and a half dozen diems, and pushed them across the table. Baet was incredulous. It was a pittance, an insult.
Still, a slight stack of silver was better than nothing. It was certainly a lot better than Meriona and the Jade Blades got, and they caused no blood. Baet gave a stiff bow and took the coin without comment. He turned and proceeded from the barn as Carringten joined him.
“Good luck to you,” Creigal called as the his guards stepped from the barn.
Carringten walked next to Baet as several Jindleyaks followed at a discrete distance. The captain 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?” Baet stared.
Carringten shrugged. “You are not eligible to serve among the duke’s elite ranks, but you are by no means banished.”
“There are a few items I’d like to recover,” Baet said, then hanged his head. “Perhaps not enough to bother.”
Carringten stared at the junior guard. “When did you lose heart?” He finally asked.
Baet shook his head and wondered if he should answer, then a spark caught in his belly, and he thought, why not? Why not give the man such answers? He’d asked, after all! He stared at his captain. “I believed for a long time,” he began. “It wasn’t until Pagladoria that questions arose.”
“Sometimes the sneaks see too much,” Carringten nodded. “There have been many that thought his lordship was a man above reproach, that he could make no mistakes. It can be quite disappointing to find out that he is just another man.”
“He had me kill a child,” Baet shook his head. “A girl of, eight? Nine years old?”
“Ahh,” Carringten sighed as he nodded. “I remember…”
“I begged you,” Baet stared daggers at his captain. “I begged you to reconsider!”
Carringten stared back. “Her father, the viceroy, he killed dozens of our men—and not just men. He killed several spies, destroyed several of our secret allies, and learned far too many of our secrets; and he did it with that girl.”
“And after I killed her, her dad killed four more of our men, —almost five!” Baet said as he pressed a thumb into his own chest.
“And how do you think they found you? Indeed, I think it is a good thing you struck when you did, or he might have killed you first,” Carringten claimed.
“She was so young,” Baet shook his head. “I can still feel the fine bones of her neck as I squeezed the life out of her,” he said, with tears welling. “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.
“I should hope so!” Baet glared. “I had the viceroy! If I could get the child, I could certainly get the viceroy—and I asked you to switch targets—non—I begged to switch targets!” he shook his head. “But no, it had to be the girl.” Baet continued with a grim face 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,” he anguished. “Why did you make me do it?!” he asked. “Why did I have to be as bad as our enemies?!”
“Do you think if the viceroy had died that the killings would have stopped?” Carringten asked. “You see, it is more complicated. The information came from the child. She had weird abilities. How do you think her father was able to ferret out so many of our spies? And yet, after she died, his intelligence dried up, and we’ve been able to reestablish ourselves in the capital.”
Baet shook his head. He’d heard nothing of such possibilities. “The girl was…?”
“Some sort of magic,” Carringten shrugged. “We do not know how she did it. 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 this,” he shook his head. “No. We have so many secrets,” he continued. “We don’t even talk to each other. Layers and layers of secrets, until I’m not even sure we’re 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. Men, women, children… do you think women and children are immune to the effects of war? We fight in secret so we don’t have open war, so the dying is by the dozens, and not by the hundreds and thousands,” He put a finger in Baet’s chest. “You used to know this,” he admonished.
“I think I’ve had enough of your admonishments,” Baet turned away. “Lead me to my cell, that I mimght rest.”
“Almost,” Carringten nodded, then pulled a small purse from his pocket. He held it out to Baet.
Baet glared at the man, uncertain what to think, 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.
“He left it for me to say,” the dark captain noted. Once more, Baet found himself in the jail under the main house. He walked into the cell of his own volition. Carringten stood at the door with more words for the junior guard. “I hear you’ve chosen the musket for your duel with Homoth.”
“I have,” Baet confirmed.
“Tis his folly,” Carringten stated. “I shall pull the man aside and tell him so, though I do not know if it will do you any good.” He took several steps away, turned back to Baet and gave a bow. “Faith, fidelity, courage,” he said.
“Faith, fidelity, courage,” Baet repeated.
Carringten and the Jindleyak jailers all slipped out. With a huff, Baet sat himself down.
Snickering sounds came from the cell at the far end of the room.
“I shall get out of here before you!” Baet snapped at the naga.
~!@#$%^&*()_+ 18.9 +_)(*&^%$#@!~
After confronting Baet, Carringten returned to the barn where he found Creigal waiting for him. "It is done," the captain said. "I am the last of your guard." He 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 cluster of grapes in the other. It was Carringten’s badge of office.
Creigal shook his head. “Why would you give me this? I have not released or demoted you—nor would I.”
Carringten shook his head. “I have failed the office. 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.
Creigal was shocked. “And so you resign?!”
"I have failed," Carringten repeated. "I allowed myself to be blinded by Baet's treachery, and it almost got you killed. I lost a number of your men—and when it was just Baet and I to protect you, I could not keep one other man out of trouble.”
“But I have survived, and you have too!” Creigal replied. “I am still your duke, and I have many guards at home that need a capable commander.”
Carringten disagreed. “They are home and cannot guard you. I am the last, and though I will continue to serve as your guard, I will not pretend 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. They look to you. A duke is not such an unapproachable man to them. Yes, I may be the closest, but I am only another guard. I will not pretend I command anything more than my own body.”
“And what of our return home?” Cregal asked. “What shall you do when we are among our own once more?”
“Do you think the other men will respect a captain that cannot bring home any of those he commanded?” Carringten shook his head. “I am your guard, from now until the day I die—but I command no more.”