Excergie

Polished 15.1, 15.2, and 15.3. Worked on 15.4. It needs more work, and still needs to be moved — 2h35m37s — 2022/09/28

Polished the chapter. Cut out the hunt and moved it to book 3. Streamlined 15.4 and took out some repetitious material. The same things are said in the next chapter — 1h23m32 — 2022/11/28

Polished 15.1 — 50m43s — 2023/02/27

Polished 15.1, trying to get Crea and Malcolm dialed down — 1h26m11s — 2023/02/28

Polished 15.2 — 8m33s — 2023/02/28

Polished 15.1, 15.2, and 15.3. 15.4 needs to change. Creigal’s take on Trohl culture all comes in book 3. Creigal and Baet are both going to be in the audience for the trial, with Aim, Elpis, and Duboha. While they are gone, Carringten watches Maligno. Maligno thinks about his fight with the little brother and when the tentacle hit him. He wonders that the boy survived the attack, and wonders if the boy has recovered. He imagines that Komotz is still in bed… Maybe. I think I like it.... — 1h17m09s — 2023/03/03

Changed the ending of 15.3. Worked on 15.4 (mostly deleted stuff). Still needs work. Got lazy… — 44m19s — 2023/03/04

Erased 15.4. Now 15.5 is 15.4 and I added a new 15.5, where Maligno and Carringten interact while the others are at the trial — 1h14m51s — 2023/03/05

Polished the entire chapter — 2h02m32s — 2023/03/08

Moved 15.1 to 14.4 — 2023/03/24

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

Banifourd glanced about the small gathering of cottages and barns as they burned. He was beginning to lose count of all the villages and farmsteads he’d passed that were sacked and torched. He thought once they were on the plains, they might proceed quickly to Gaur land—but they’d already circled back twice in their quest to kill and destroy with abandon. Native men laid in the dirt, dead or dying. Their horses, weapons, and children stolen. Their women defiled.

This wasn’t the war he wanted, yet Banifourd offered no complaint. He wasn’t supposed to be murdering women and children on the plains of the Noeth. He was supposed to be helping his cousins wrestle Gaurring out of their senile father’s hands. Who was Duke Creigal berDuvante to defy King Gred duReb—especially since everyone knew that the King had Empress Seveticah in his pocket, and her armies at his bidding. So he knew better than to argue. 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 off hand.

Petaerus approached. “Are you already drinking?” he frowned. “The killing is not yet done.”

Leave it to the Ministrians to ruin a good drink, Banifourd thought. He lifted the bottle. “Try some. You might like it,” he offered, though he knew the man would refuse. Ministrians rarely drank or smoked or did much of anything fun without a priestess around to administer to them. It was against their carping twin gods.

Petaerus answered true to his fashion. “We drink with our ladies, not while we fight!”

Banifourd shrugged. “There’s no one else to fight here—unless you would have me fight more women and children—and then I feel I might as well be drunk,” he waved the bottle. “Besides, I am ordered to leave some alive, so they might tell of the Gaur officer that rides among these ‘Trohl berserkers’,” he waved his hand at what were mostly Ministrians in shoddy costuming. “I do my part!” he snapped. “I'm sure that I'm seen and that my mischief is genuine!”

The copal was about to reply when an outrider interrupted. The scout approached, his face pale, as he stopped to grovel before Petaerus. "Copal! A column of men comes from the north baring the arms of High Plains!”

“How many?” Petaerus asked.

“Hundreds! Certainly too many for us! If we hope to fight, we must go back to Solveny!”

“So the Count of the High Plains has finally found us,” Petaerus smiled. “Form up!” he called to his men. “We ride south for the border!”

“Sssouth, sir?” The scout stammered.

“Not you, friend. You will go to Solveny and tell them what has happened here,” Petaerus stated. “We go to Gaurring, so we might catch the Count’s army in a pincer.” 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 among these peasants? We finally make for Gaur?!"

“Yes—though I fear it will still be some time before you see home,” Petaerus sneered.

This sounded very much like a threat! With a curse, Banifourd dropped the rag and grabbed the hilt of his sword. He pulled the weapon, meaning to kill the man—or at least make him explain himself—but someone struck him from behind. His world went dark as he dropped his weapon and slumped to the ground.

“Holy Ooroiyuo!” Petaerus roared at Dolif. “If I wanted him dead, I would have hit him myself!” the copal snapped as he checked the prone Gaur.

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

Petaerus pulled a messenger bag off his horse and wrapped it under Banifourd’s arm, then dug about his pockets until he found the man's purse. He pulled Gliedian's gold sol from it, then snagged several coins, half of which he gave to Dolif.

“Take it all,” his friend suggested.

Petaerus shook his head. “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,” he grinned. “It should be easy enough, as you only need to play at being witless.” He opened a small container and smudged a finger of a thick dark lotion around Banifourd's lips. He rimmed the man's nose with the cream, then wiped his hand in the dirt to remove any excess.

“What is that?” Dolif asked as he leaned forward.

Petaerus pushed him back. “It’s a mix of fetterstalk and bruise weed, you dolt. Stay back unless you want a long nap and a week of confusion.”

“Oil of Stupid,” Dolif smirked. “Where’d you get that?”

“Gliedian gave it to me,” Petaerus shrugged. “Likely they will think he was hit too hard and his brains are rattled. Then they must trust his documents.”

“For a few days, maybe, but the stuff wears off eventually. What then?” Dolif asked.

“What then?” Petaerus repeated. “It’s out of my hands, that’s ‘what then’!”

Still, Dolif wasn’t satisfied. “If he’s supposed to be stupid, I feel it is not possible that I hit him too hard!”

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

“I don’t see why,” Dolif scratched. “If he were dead, there could be no hope of betrayal.”

“We play a long game,” Petaerus explained. “There is no reason to kill a useful pawn. After all, a play requires puppets,” he stood and spit on Banifourd. “Come now,” he said to Dolif. “We must make haste, yeah?"

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

After nearly a year of being mostly alone, Paye was beginning to miss people. It’d been nearly a month since she had any visitors at the house in Excergie. It’d been since her cousin, Scurra, stopped by on her way out west, on a mission to find her brother. Yet, Paye had made a few introductions in town. She simply never had anyone over, as she preferred her own company. After all, she needed to be alone; time for quiet contemplations, for pondering, and praying.

Yet, after such a long time alone, Paye hungered for interaction and thought if she did not have social engagement soon, she might forget how to talk to people altogether. As the days crept on, as she considered what she might do to alleviate her boredom, yet stuck to her solitary routine, and only ever considered the possibilities. She wondered if she should 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 simply 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 maybe a dozen others in tow. She saw them well before they reached the house, as they clattered up the drive.

Paye rushed outside and gathered a weary and subdued Scurra in her arms. She looked among her cousin’s company, and recognized several of the men, including the dour face of her brother. She hugged Elpis, but only after she frowned as his eyes refused to focus on the same point at any given moment. She didn’t say anything, because she didn’t want to be rude.

“We have injured among us,” Scurra said, though the statement seemed super obvious. “My brother stopped at an apothecary in town. Will you fetch him, and make sure that he brings the peacekeepers?” she asked.

Paye glanced among the others. There were foreigners among her cousins, Saots by their dress, and one of them was dark as night. She wondered if they were the reason to bring the peacekeepers—but that seemed unlikely, since they were all armed and smiled politely.

Paye stepped down the drive and waved to Aim and Duboha, both of which she knew more by reputation than anything else. Duboha rarely came east, and Aim had been out west for nearly a decade. She glanced at Homoth, whom she hadn’t seen in over a year, and wondered if he had forgiven her. She wasn’t sure if he frowned at her or if perhaps the frown was simply due to their circumstances. She let it slide.

Town wasn’t far—not even half a mile. It’d been years since she’d seen her cousin, and she might not have recognized him at all, but the new scar that ran down his face caused her to look twice. “Krumpus?!” she gaped. “What…?” she began to ask, then paused, as she didn’t want to be rude.

With a gasp and a bright smile, the shaman gathered his cousin in a hug. In short order, Paye returned to the house with the missing brother, several other physicians, a couple midwives, and half a dozen armed men from a couple different local militias. The peacekeepers went with Duboha and the Saots to hear charges against Meriona, Naiphan, and Bruck; then took them to the jail while Paye and the others went inside so they might check on the injured.

There was little more to be done for Toar. The shrapnel from the Pemberton GremSorter was all removed from his face by Baet's deft hand. His bandages were changed. He was given a draught to help him sleep, and also to strengthen his blood. After that, he was left to heal with a light bandage and a soothing cream across half his face.

Andrus was in high spirits as a cute midwife gave him a pipe of conicle to ease his pain. His chest was deeply bruised, which made smoking difficult, but he had an agreeable time as he smoked and flirted with the blushing midwife.

Komotz, the worst of them, needed a good deal of work and another heavy dose of numb root, while Krumpus and the and the physicians ascertained the great extent of his injuries. The others all marveled that he was somehow still alive, as they checked the shaman’s triage.

Several bones were jostled by the hard road and needed to be reset. The healers concocted a curative potion for the man to drink twice a day. Then, as they administered it, the numb root caused the young man to purge, which seemed incredibly painful. A few hours later, he purged yet again, and the elder midwife insisted they change him from numb root to a different medicine, oblivia; a drug that would end the nausea, and also put the man out completely.

Of course, there were other issues with oblivia. It was delicate to administer and also caused issues with some of the stronger herbs used in the militiaman’s curative, so his potion had to be reformulated. In the mean time, Komotz soiled another set of bedding and bandages, as the numb root worked its way out of his system in fits and starts. It was a rough night, not only for the suffering younger brother, but the small troop of men and women that looked after him.

The next day, Paye carried the stained sheets of her younger brother when she heard a voice coming from another room. She peeked in to see the Saot guard sitting on the edge of Toar’s bed and talking to the injured youth, though the young Trohl was asleep. “That'll be the way of it,” he said in his native tongue. “It'll be a fine day at the ocean—if your game to come…”

Sensing that they were no longer alone, the guard cut off his commentary and turned. His gaze was direct and unwavering as he stared at Paye, 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.

“How ‘bout that?” The Saot smiled back. “You speak the fickle tongue of the kingdom!”

Paye shrugged. “The family does a fair bit of trade in Land's End. I’ve made the trip many times, and it helps to know what the locals are saying.”

“I should imagine so,” the Saot replied. “Yet none of your cousins speak the tongue.”

“They were more interested in going west rather than south, so they took up Ministrian—or pretended to,” Paye stated. “Where are the others?” she replied.

“They hold council, that they might decide what they will do next,” he said.

“And you do not wish to council with them?” she asked.

“I am not a counselor,” the Saot shrugged. “I am a man of action.”

“Ahh,” Paye smirked. “You are one that would rather fight or hunt.”

The Saot shook his head. “I’ve done enough fighting—I certainly done enough hunting in my day,” he replied.

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

The Saot shrugged. “Perhaps if I hunted game…” he muttered.

“What do you hunt?” Paye asked.

“Men, mostly. From time to time it’s women,” he said with a smirk. “Once it was a child,” he confessed with a curious stare.

Was he kidding? Either way, it wasn’t funny. Paye took a cautious step back.

The guard smiled a conciliatory smile and turned away. “That’s all in the past, I think. My hunting days are all but done.”

“And now you are a nursemaid?” Paye teased, though she didn’t want to like him. She’d never known a good man to brag about killing women or children.

Perhaps he was only kidding.

The Saot shrugged. “Maybe it’s time I started putting people together instead of taking them apart,” he joked. “But no. Now I guard.”

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

“Mostly the duke. Today I have another charge—though my duty is yet to begin. Would you like to see?”

Paye flinched. There was a troublesome glint in the man’s eye. She’d be daft not to recognize the danger. 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, 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. “Shall we allow that mess to soak?”

“Will this take long?” Paye replied.

“Have you ever known a man to take long?” The stranger joked.

At least, she thought it was a joke. Arms akimbo, Paye stared. “Tell me, sir. What is it that you guard?”

Baet gave a nod, and with a mischievous smile, waved her back to the house. “It’s this way.” He began—but Paye didn’t flinch. He stopped. “What is it?”

“You must swear that I will be safe,” Paye answered.

Baet put a hand on his heart and pretended to be offended. “I am a guard,” he stated. “Simply ask and I will defend not only your very self, but also your virtue, on pain of my own death,” he said.

“You would protect me even from your own ambitions?” Paye replied.

“But they are the first to be rebuffed,” Baet smiled, then turned and waved her along. “This way!” he called.

Paye frowned as the man led her back into the house, turned down a thin flight of stairs, then stepped through the cellar and triggered a secret catch that opened an obscured door.

The wall twisted and revealed a passage. “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.

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

“Not this one,” Baet claimed. “Come on. I’ll lead,” and with that, he began down the passage.

Reluctantly, Paye followed. She knew what was down here: several cells for any prisoners they might have to keep. After all, her family was powerful and had many enemies. She peeked around the corner. For a long second she saw nothing. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she noted movement as the prisoner shifted his weight. She gasped as a large beast glared at her through the bars. “Is that…?!” she began.

“A naga,” Baet nodded.

“Yet you are the one to tell me!” Paye huffed and glared at him. “Why those sneaky…” she began—then let her words trail off. She wasn’t surprised that her brother and his friends would keep such a secret, but the fact that Scurra kept her out of the loop was a bit of a sting. “Why do we have a naga prisoner?”

Baet shrugged. “Can’t fathom it myself. Don’t know why they don’t just let the baby-eater die.” He turned and banged the cage. “You hear that, you piss-swilling brute!” he yelled at the naga. “I hope you get infected and die!”

The naga barely flinched.

Although the shift in attitude shocked her, Paye found the Saot’s passionate display rather captivating—especially when she learned about the poor dead boy.

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

Wanting to get out of the house, Scurra, gathered the other ladies and took them into town. She returned with Paye, Wenifas, and Celesi; their arms full of food and needed supplies from the local markets.

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 set for tomorrow.”

“We’re going to take some time,” Elpis replied.

“The peacekeepers want it said and done,” Scurra stated. “None of the militias are interested in foreigners taking up so much jail space, plus they’re being peppered with questions.”

“Must not be much drama of late,” Elpis noted. “Well, they’ll get all the sordid details tomorrow.”

“Not all the sorted details—” Scurra began.

“But tomorrow?” Wenifas cut in. “Will we be ready by then?” she asked, curious about the Jindleyak legal process. Ministrian concerns could run on for months.

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

“I found several Toilers heading for Ebertin,” she said. “They took the duty for a pittance.”

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

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

Wenifas sucked her teeth and shouldered the young lady.

Despite the insensitivity, Elpis answered. “There is much to be done for the relatives of my Lady Yandira.” Not wanting to say anything more about that, he turned back to Scurra. “Homoth took a spare horse and rode for Hearthstone with all possible haste.”

Scurra nodded. “I shall be glad when the rest of us follow. I think it’s best if we continue on our way as soon as possible. Nothing against this duke personally, but trouble seems to follow Creigal wherever he goes. I’d prefer to have him in Hearthstone sooner than later.”

“Do you think Komotz will be able to travel any time soon?” Elpis replied.

“He is safe here and has the attention of capable healers. I think we should leave him and let him follow as he can,” Scurra replied.

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

The next day, while the others were at the trial, Carringten stayed with the naga. He brought the beast a plate of fried fish with an assortment of vegetables. The fish was much appreciated, and some of the vegetables, to a lesser degree. After a slow dinner, Maligno passed the plate back to the dark man.

Having the naga’s attention, Carringten questioned the beast with improvised signs. He asked if the creature’s wounds had healed. Despite the curses of the other Saot, all of Maligno’s cuts were doing quite well, including both that required stitches. Admittedly, he was still sore, but figured in another week or two he’d be right as rain.

The dark man nodded, seemingly pleased with the creature’s progress.

Now that he was feeling better, now that he was quite sure that he would live, Maligno wanted to ask what they meant to do with him—but since the dark man couldn’t speak the Trohl language, and since the others were quite disagreeable—he set the question aside.

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