Shifting Allegiance

Polished 17.1 — 1h10m19s — 2022/09/12

Polished 17.2, 17.3, 17.4, 17.5, 17.6 and 17.7. Changed 17.7 so Baet is swimming with Paye and moved it to 18.1 — 1h04m08s — 2022/09/13

Polished the entire chapter, put doubt in Creigal’s heart, and moved 17.1 to 17.6 — 1h06m33s — 2022/12/14

Did a fair amount of work on 17.1. Did a heavy polish and also referenced Delonias again. I need a Delonias comment from Wenifas sometime late in book one… — 1h09m47s — 2023/03/14

Polished 17.5 — 45m54s — 2023/03/14

Wrote a new beginning for 17.1 — 2h07m59s — 2023/03/16

Polished 17.1 — 1h21m05s — 2023/03/17

Polished the entire chapter — 1h22m55s — 2023/03/18

Krumpus was feeling strong and healthy. His hands were filling out and approaching their old strength—and now that Meriona and the Jaded Blades were sent away, there was little to do until they went east, to the edge of Hearthstone, to the Trandhill estate. In hopes of being helpful, the shaman decided to involve himself in the recovery of Komotz—to his own detriment. Against his sister’s advice—but with her in attendance— Krumpus turned his attention to the flaying health of his young cousin.

Now that Komotz had a few days of mending, the care of the young man was paired down to four individuals. In charge was an old local mystic that sat and crafted her trinkets or played with her sigils. It was her job to attend the patient and observe his slow recovery. She was a withered old woman, though she talked and chuckled as she told story after story to the injured youth. Sometimes, she sat and worked at her art quietly, listening to his breathing; catching each hiccup and every snort, worried each time a coughing fit devolved into gagging. When such things happened, she called for her able bodied journeyman and explained the situation, which was always handled with deft hands. After the insightful journeyman, there was a young apprentice to observe and help with some of the dirty work. The final charge was a boy of maybe a dozen years to run errands and messages in Excergie. “We really shouldn’t be bothering him,” Scurra said as they approached the door to the room. “I’m telling you this is a mistake.”

Krumpus opened the door anyway.

The old woman lifted her head from her book and blinked at the shaman. “No visitors!” she ordered. “The boy is out cold and he needs his rest!”

Krumpus stepped into the room and bowed with a flourish. He grinned as his sister spoke for him. “He doesn’t speak. He let’s me do that—or just goes without,” Scurra explained. “He wishes to see the boy and ask after his treatment.”

“You must be the mute healer everyone seems so taken with,” the old lady stated. “Well I am Giscelda, and I do not appreciate being second guessed by anyone!” she said as she leaned away.

“He begs of you, as one professional to another?”

“My business is mending bodies, not attending beggars,” Giscelda glared.

“He insists,” Scurra stated.

“Well, he’s not a talker, eh!” the old mystic snorted. “Then I suppose I must talk for both of us!” She stood and approached the bedside. Giscelda then proceeded to list off injuries and what they were doing to heal them, then add all the setbacks and how they adjusted their treatments.

While hearing all the issues and nodding appreciatively, Krumpus leaned close to Komotz and examined his bandages. He reached out a finger and made to lift the blanket off the boy—but felt a sudden burst of pain as Giscelda jammed a nail between two of his ribs.

“Did you hear a word I said to you, boy?!” the frail old woman glared up at the scarred face of Krumpus. “I just gave you a laundry list of concerns and expressed how vital it is that he rest as best as he can—and you think to disturb him?!”

Krumpus shied away and shook his head.

“Now that’s enough!” the old mystic turned to Scurra. “Do you wish for me to continue his treatment, or would you prefer this roustabout be allowed to meddle?!”

Scurra raised her hand and pointed at the withered old woman.

“Well then,” Giscelda pushed them both toward the door. “Get out! This boy needs his rest, not your antics.” Once she had them out of the room, Giscelda turned on Scurra. “You know what this means?” she asked.

With a gulp, Scurra nodded.

“Good!” Giscelda closed the door.

Scurra glared at her brother. “You idiot!”

Krumpus shrugged. What was wrong with checking on their cousin?

“She told us not to interrupt, but we did so you could investigate,” Scurra noted. “Do you even realize that she just doubled her fee?!”

And why should she do that? Krumpus signed.

“Do you allow others to second guess your work?” Scurra asked.

Krumpus shrugged and signed back to his sister. She was charging a pittance. We certainly have the money, he noted.

“It’s not about the money!” Scurra scolded. “You insulted her care!” she shook her head. “Sometimes it is not for you to meddle,” she said, then charged away, indignant.

With a snort, Krumpus sulked away. Still, other work would find the shaman shortly. Indeed, it was Duboha that stopped him. “We have an issue,” he began. “There is the matter of the boy’s body,” he began. “It is beginning to stink.”

Krumpus sought Wenifas, that he might ask if they could cremate or bury the boy. He mentioned the lost child to the priestess, and color drained from her face. She agreed that a pyre would be appropriate, so they took the corpse to a nearby ridge that overlooked Excergie, and was often used for such purposes.

The sun’s light was fading. Stars were beginning to dot the sky. The shroud wrapped about the body of Claiten had disappeared long ago, become invisible behind the blinding light of the flames. Caught in her feels, Wenifas held Evereste, as the mighty fire belched sparks into the night. The others stood solemn—except for one. For her part, Evereste was as happy and burbling as ever—in absolute contrast to everyone else that was gathered. Evereste stared at the fire, her hands stretched out to the twisting flames, as she squealed and cooed at the dancing light.

Wenifas preferred the child happy. What other reason did she have to go on? She was lost in this world. Utterly lost. She had hoped for a new beginning when she’d followed her good friend, Delonias, to the east—and when she met Derris, she thought everything was going her way. But where were they now? Derris was dead, and what had become of Delonias? Had she escaped the camp? Wenifas could still hear her pleading and begging at the indelicate hands of Fedring. Was death a blessing to her old friend? Indeed, the babe could barely distract the priestess, as she wept for her numerous losses.

Claiten, Delonias, and Derris weren’t the only ones missing. None had heard word or whisper of Meu since she was swept away by the leviathan, disappearing into the dark clouds while wrapped about that wicked naga. Others had shared their concern and sincere hope that Meu was still out there—and she could see that the shaman and the duke both suffered from her absence—but who could say what had happened? Wenifas lost sight of her when the leviathan came crashing by. The only one that claimed to see anything was Andrus, though he swore he saw her get caught in the great beast’s tendril while still tangled with her enemy.

Perhaps the crafty skin-walker was still out there. Perhaps, having lost the others, she was now making her way south to her daughter. Wenifas hanged on to this slim hope.

Still, the boy was the worst of her sorrows. Her pride and joy. Her growing child. He was just beginning to show the kind of man he would be; inquisitive, dashing, courageous—almost too eager to defend his mother. She felt she had failed the boy and worried that she would fail her daughter next, as she clung to the babe.

Unlike the pyre that celebrated the lives of Apulton and Traust, this fire was a quiet and somber affair. The duke had no grand speech to give, there was no song and no dance to break the grief. There was only the crackle of the fire, the curl of the rising flames—and the inappropriate peals of laughter as Evereste tried to get closer.

Evereste: the baby with the undying fascination of fire. It was a miracle she’d still never been burned—yet, Wenifas knew it would happen soon enough. There was no escaping such a basic lesson. Innocence was forever shifting into experience; cold, hard, and sharp. How long would it be? When would her vigilance slip and allow the child the burn she begged for? Might it take a few more years? Might it happen before the week was out? And how had a fistful of hot bee’s wax failed to teach her the lesson?

Wenifas glanced around the others and realized that several were captivated by the child’s charms. Through her grief, she smiled at her new-found friends. She was more than happy to have the patient and caring shaman around, and was growing quite fond of his people. They were as kind and generous as she could possibly hope. And yet, they harbored the men that killed Derris. She didn’t mind the duke and the watchful dark man, but the native guide tended to glare, and the tea-drinker—well, the list of complaints against that man only seemed to grow! She turned away from these others and stared into the flames once more. At least they planned to continue on. She wondered how long the duke and his men would stay with the Trohls and hoped that they would be on their way rather quickly.

The next day, Wenifas wondered off on her own. The others were debating whether or not they should wait for Komotz, or perhaps leave him in the capable hands of Giscelda, or maybe him east. Wenifas couldn’t care. The particulars didn’t matter to her, so long as the youth recovered. After that, it was all the same.

Shortly, the priestess found herself sitting among a meadow of flowers, as she bawled over her losses. With tears streaming from her eyes, she wondered how it could be that she still hadn’t cried herself out. Only Evereste kept her from curling into a ball and becoming part of the earth. For her part, the babe crawled and poked about the later summer blossoms, unwitting of the turmoil that seized inside her mother.

Eventually the tears subsided. A comforting numbness settled upon her as she watched the bees dance about the field, unconcerned with the lady that watered their flowers.

But the pastoral sublimity did not last. Someone approached.

Realizing she was no longer alone, Wenifas looked up to see Baet standing a short way off. She glared, frustrated that he always seemed to present himself when she least wanted to see him—that is to say, she never wanted to see him! So why must he bother her?!

The Saot raised his hands in hopes of quelling her obvious anger. “He was a special boy,” he said as he pulled her son’s blade from his belt and held it gently before him. “I found this on the beach. He loved it and claimed he took it from the naga in Beletrain.”

“I know the blade,” the priestess confirmed with eyes of flint. Still, he was being nice, and so she decided to tame her fury.

“I was teaching him to use it—though I guess I didn’t teach him fast enough,” Baet stammered. “Anyway, I don’t know if you want it, but I thought you should have it.”

Wenifas took the offered blade and turned it in her hand. Since Beletrain, her son was never without it. She smiled to think of her son trying to gut the guard and cursing the man, simply for dancing with her—but that’s not how it went. Wenifas tried to gut him first, and almost managed it. Claiten simply tried to finish her work. She smiled to think of it. He was such a loyal boy.

Looking up, Wenifas pointed the dagger at the guard, though she didn’t advance. “I don’t know why he liked you, and I don’t know what you said to him; but I do know that he went from trying to kill you, to sneaking off so he could train with you.”

“I just think he was lonely,” Baet stated, then realized what he said and backpedaled. “He had you and the other ladies, of course. He just needed some male companionship.”

“He had Krumpus,” Wenifas noted.

“The busted up shaman?” Baet disagreed.

Wenifas shrugged. “Is it possible that you were a better friend than I was a mother?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Baet replied. “With all the danger we’ve seen its a wonder more of us aren’t dead.”

Wenifas gave a grim nod. “Whatever it was that you said to him, whatever it was that you did, thank you. If your training meant enough to him that he was willing to suffer my wrath, well, then it meant enough to me to turn a blind eye.”

“The only reason he snuck around is because he thought you’d be mad,” Baet replied.

“Oh I was,” Wenifas nodded. “Still, you were his friend when there were few friends for a boy to find. I want to thank you for that. Friends were always a big part of Claiten’s life.”

Baet gave a nod. “He was a good kid. Given a couple more years, he might have been the right kind of terror.”

“Given a couple more years…” Weinfas wiped her eyes.

“I’m really sorry for your loss—losses,” Baet cringed as he stupidly corrected himself. Then, having said his peace, he decided it was best to turn and leave.

"How’s Toar?" Wenifas asked. Now that he had bothered her, she was not yet ready to be alone again, and despite her wonderful daughter, she was craving adult interaction.

Baet turned and smirked. “He’s up and about. He says he sees the world through a shake of pepper—but at least he sees through both eyes.”

Slowly, she gave a nod.

"Don’t feel sorry for the lad,” Baet said. “Between his face and butt, he has plenty of scars to impress the ladies.”

“Not everyone’s first concern is impressing the ladies,” Wenifas noted. “What of Komotz?”

Baet shook his head. “He’s better one day and worse the next. Some wanted to wait for him, and some wanted to leave him here until he can make a fuller recovery—but in one of his lucid moments, he begged to come with us. Giscelda thinks he overly agitates himself with the question. She thinks its best if he goes and has agreed to come with us and continue his care,” he shrugged.

Wenifas gave a nod, then the two simply stared at each other for a long second. She thought he should leave now, but before the guard could wander off, she reached into her robes and pulled out her musket. She held the weapon in her lap. “Celesi helped me load it.”

“I figured as much,” Baet nodded. “Toar admitted that he helped her load the GremSorter.”

Wenifas continued. “The morning of the leviathan, I came over the top of the hill and saw Meu and that one-eyed naga all wrapped up. It seemed to me that he had her in a bad way, and my boy saw it too. He charged in and swiped at the bastard,” Wenifas choked up.

Baet nodded. “He weren’t no chicken.”

Wenifas shook her head. “No. His problem was the opposite. He was impetuous. He was young and cocky. He charged the naga, and the one-eyed beast dodged him easy enough—though he had to let go of Meu to do it.” A flood of tears came to her eyes, and for several seconds Wenifas choked up.

“Hey…” Baet soothed. "It’s okay…” he said, and hoped she’d continue. He was rapt to hear the particulars, since he had not seen much of the fight at all. He’d had several versions of it already, but was still missing so many details!

“I saw the blow coming,” Wenifas continued. “I saw it, and there was something I could do about it,” she lifted the pistol and pointed it at the sky. “I pulled this out, aimed, and fired—but I missed,” she gaped. “It missed—and now I think it does not shoot straight at all.”

Baet shook his head. “It’s not an easy thing to aim a pistol when so many are fighting and dying around you, and in such bad weather,” he shook his head.

“Either way, the ball carried to the right. I know it carried right, because I saw it hit the naga that sat astride Andrus.”

“Ain’t he the lucky one,” Baet nodded.

“I don’t mind that I saved the man—but it was not my intention. If I could do it again, I would let the Jindleyak die. I’d let him die a thousand times if it would save my boy—but there’s no taking it back.”

“You could only do so much,” Baet pointed. “For whatever reasons, the gods wanted your son.”

“But it wasn’t the last thing I could do. It was just the last thing I would do,” Wenifas replied, as she stared at the ground. “When I fired, the shot spooked the one-eyed naga and gave me another fraction of a second. I thought to throw the gun—but I balked. I knew once the weapon was out of my hands I would not bother pick it up again, and in that second I didn’t want to throw it because I thought you might pick it up.” She turned the weapon over in one hand as she wiped at tears with the other. “I hate you so much, I failed to do the one last thing that might have saved my child,” she said as she stared up at the man.

“Immediately, I realized my mistake,” she continued. “I cocked my arm back—and it was already to late. There was a maniacal grin on that beast’s thin lips as he slashed my boy from hip to chin. So I watched my child fall at the edge of the water. I saw the light leave his eyes—dead before he hit the sand.”

Baet gaped, unsure what to say to this. He wished to comfort her—but he knew not to get too close.

Wenifas lifted the gun. “Here,” she offered, as she wiped her leaky face with her other hand. “Take it.”

For a long second he simply stared at her.

“It poisons me to have it,” Wenifas continued and waved the weapon with contempt. “It didn’t help me when I wanted to kill the naga. It didn’t help me when I wanted to kill you. As far as I can tell, it’s worse than worthless. It’s cursed.”

Slowly, Baet took the weapon, tucked in its holster, and reverently placed the belt around his waist.

Wenifas stared at the man. “Would you have missed?”

“I wasn’t even there,” Baet shrugged. “Duty kept me with the prisoners,” he hanged his head and stared at the ground for several seconds. “I like to think if I was, I might have been able to do something.”

Wenifas shrugged. “You did your duty. Is that not the thing to do?”

Baet looked down at the priestess and wondered if she knew that he asked himself questions of duty all too often. For a long second, he stared at the fine features of the exotic woman and wondered how he might make her most happy, then decided it was best if he left her alone. “Thank you,” he said as he waved the musket, then turned, and slowly walked away.

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

Paye found the letter on her dresser as she prepared for bed. She unfolded it and read it, somewhat perplexed that Homoth wanted her to send the ornament that hanged over the mantle back to Hearthstone with the others.

Over the years, dinge and tarnish had collected on the massive, decorative crest. Homoth said the sight of it in such a state had made his heart heavy. He wanted to polish it, and since their grandfather had not seen it in such a long time, he wanted to present it to him, clean and beautiful, after which he would return it to Excergie.

Indeed, it was a strange request, but Paye was eager to make her estranged brother happy, so she stood in the main room and stared at the heavy decoration, made with precious metals and pricey gems.

She thought perhaps she should deny his request. After all, it didn’t belong to him, and it most certainly didn’t belong to her. It belonged to the family, and it belonged at their house in Excergie. There was little use for it back in Hearthstone, where they had all manner of decoration. Still, her brother had left her quite a nice note, and she had not seen him in such a long time, so she climbed up over the mantle and pried the large ornament off the wall.

The metal crest was much heavier than Paye anticipated. It came off the hook with a pop, and promptly pulled her off balance. She would have fallen and dropped the piece to boot, if not for the helpful hands of Baetolamew.

“Easy there,” he smiled, as he steadied her, then helped her off the mantle. “Ma’am,” the Saot said, then turned and made his way out of the room.

Paye watched him go. There seemed to be more swagger than usual as he walked away. She noted the musket on his hip and wondered that she had not seen the weapon before. He turned and glanced back as he got to the hall. A sly grin crept along his lips, and he gave her a wink. Paye blushed and looked away, as she realized he was handsome devil indeed, then took the large metal crest and packed it among her clothes. It was time to go home. She only hoped her family would be happy to see her.

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

The next morning, as they all prepared to leave for Hearthstone, a true miracle occurred—though it made Aim jump. A serpent with wings like an eagle swooped out of the trees and wrapped around the priestess before anyone could do anything about it.

Aim watched as the massive beast caught Wenifas off guard and almost tumbled her to the earth. Wailing and sobbing, the priestess struggled to right herself as the serpent twisted about her.

Cursing and sputtering, Aim pulled a blade and rushed to intervene—but Andrus grabbed his arm and stopped him. With a wry smile, Andrus gaped at the beast. “She returns,” he said as he held Aim back.

“Who?” Aim asked. “What?”

“The skin-walker,” Andrus replied. “The one you told me to watch,” he ribbed the big man. “Don’t you know that’s Meu?”

Aim frowned. “That’s not Meu,” he replied. “That’s… that’s… what is that?!”

“It’s Meu!” Andrus insisted. “Didn’t you see her when we fought the naga?!”

Aim shook his head. “I didn’t see anything like that!”

“How’d you not see that?” Andrus frowned.

“What?! You mean with everyone screaming and fighting!? With naga, dragons, and a leviathan?!” Aim huffed. “I almost got skewered by a fish fork! If that beast was at the fight, it wasn’t fighting near me!”

Andrus shrugged. “So much for situational awareness.”

Aim pressed a finger against the sling that held his cousin’s bashed up arm. “You ended the fight on your back and had to ride in the wagon! I made it through without a scratch!” he said as he turned back to the winged serpent that wrapped around a giddy Wenifas. “That thing fought the naga?!”

“You’re the one that told me to keep an eye on her,” Andrus noted. “You never noticed anything strange?”

“Just that she was strange,” Aim shrugged. The big man frowned. “Meu’s a skin-walker?!” he repeated, barely believing it. Yet, he could tell that the priestess was in no danger—as she hopped about, stroking the curious beast, laughing so hard that she was crying, as she always seemed to be doing.

With a chuckle, Andrus turned to the house and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Aim asked his retreating cousin.

“To borrow one of Paye’s dresses, so Meu has something to wear,” Andrus said as he pointed back at the serpent.

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

Everyone was excited by Meu’s return. Indeed, it was the big event of an uneventful day. After that, the company finished packing up their belongings, said goodbye to Komotz, and tied up Maligno in the back of the wagon; then proceeded west without much to-do.

The Jindleyak decided it was best to take them to the Trandhill mansion at the edge of Hearthstone, considering the esteemed status of their guest. Still, they had another day’s travel before they made it that far. Evening came. Camp was set.

As the others slept, Meu slipped from the the priestess’ tent. She crept about, dodged the watch, and lingered near the duke’s tent. The dark man was on watch, and so Creigal was alone. She could hear the man tossing and turning. She scratched at the door.

Shortly, the duke pulled open its buttons and glared into the night. When he saw it was the sin-walker, his face relaxed—brightened even—as he looked at her with increasingly appreciative eyes. Meu entered and sat. Soon she was telling him of the last time they saw each other—during their battle with the naga. She filled in the details of her fight with Golifett. She explained how Claiten saved her life. She spoke of getting grabbed by the mighty leviathan—of being pulled through the clouds while entangled with the naga. The cloud kraken had them wrapped tight as it dragged them through the air. Meu bit at the tentacle as Golifett slashed it with his sword. Aggrieved, the kraken let them slip—and that was that. Meu flew as Golifett fell. A tendril lashed out from the leviathan, but failed to regain either morsel. If they’d been the beast’s only focus, they likely would have perished—but the mighty leviathan was after dragons—and rushed away.

Meu followed the naga down until he smashed into a small grove. She found his tangled form in the low branches of an oak, with lifeless eyes, bent and broken. After that, the search for her friends began. She climbed into the cloudless sky, quite blue and clear after the morning’s storm. She realized she’d been carried generally east of their camp, which she eventually found—though it was already abandoned. She followed the road to Excergie, which she didn’t reach until the next morning, then continued east until she reached Hearthstone a good day later. She figured there was no way the party had come so far so fast, and decided they must have stopped, so she turned back and retraced the road. When she reached Excergie she began to search the town, mostly at dawn and dusk, when the light was bad, and she was less likely to be spotted. It took a couple days—but then she heard Wenifas scolding Evereste about the dangers of fire—and that’s how she found them.

Enough of the naga and the kraken, Meu said as she stared at the duke. Come south with me. What are the chances you’ll find this thief anyway?

“If I should continue then I am sure I will find him,” Creigal confided.

How can you be so sure?

“My daughter comes to me in my dreams. She begs me to search.”

Dreams could mean anything, Meu replied.

“I do not think that is true,” Creigal wondered. “When I was a prisoner to the Ministrians, I considered quitting. It was easy to consider anything, since my fate seemed sealed. But once I was freed, the dreams continued. They’re so vivid. So clear. She begs me not to let her go so easily—even though she is dead and I shall never see her in this waking world.”

Suppose the dreams are just dreams, Meu continued to cast doubt. Say that you cannot find this trail? How long shall you search?

“Shall I search until it is hopeless?” he asked with a wan smile.

You say yourself that war comes to your home. Do you not want to be there to defend it?

“I was never going to be the one to defeat the King,” Creigal admitted. “That would take the entire people. If they are strong enough with me, then they are strong enough with my nephew to lead them.”

If you come south, you can be with me, Meu noted.

“Now there is a reason to forgo my quest,” Creigal smiled, then turned away with a shrug. “I suppose one never knows. Perhaps the thief came north only to turn around and go back home. Perhaps I will find myself returned to Gaurring while still chasing the thief.”

Meu frowned. You don’t believe that. You’re convinced this Humbert continues further afield.

Creigal nodded. “I cannot see Humbert settling down among a kind and caring people like these Jindleyak, and I do not see him being foolish enough to go back home,” he said. “Why must you go south?” Creigal replied. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Meu grinned. Ahh, but we all have daughters, she began. One of mine is about to hatch her first clutch. I wish to be there for her, in the first days, when it is most difficult.

“I remember your song,” Creigal nodded. “What if I promise to come south after I deal with this Humbert?”

Yet, as he said it, he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue after the thief. He hadn’t dreamed of his daughter in several days, and having Meu next to him had infused him with a passion for life.

Plans upon plans, Meu smiled. The more complicated our plottings become, the more tenuous our chances of a reunion. Still, she continued. I shall have my daughter and grandchildren to distract me. I believe the time shall pass quickly.

In such a manner they continued to talk, until it was the duke’s turn to take the watch. He relieved Carringten, then sat among a jumble of boulders at the edge of camp. He was alone for just a few minutes before Meu joined him. They sat under the faint light of the Tears of the Broken Moon with Tristmegist high above, and gazed off into the trees. Oblarra was below the horizon, which suited Meu just fine, as she never cared for its creeping red light.

For a time they talked, until Meu ran out of things to say. Then she leaned on the duke and rested her eyes. Before long, Creigal noticed she’d fallen asleep. He smiled and smoothed her hair, content to feel the weight of her, to hear her rhythmic breathing, to smell her delicate perfume. Not an assassination attempt, not a poisoning, or even the sentence of death had caused him to question his path; but now he had a choice to make, and he hoped with all his heart that he’d not hear another whisper of Humbert, so the choice might be easy.

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

The next day, as the party continued east, a rider bearing the colors and insignia of the Oak and Beast approached upon the road. Duboha and Aim rode out to meet the sour old man. They exchanged a few words, then waited for Creigal and Carringten to join them. Having nothing else to do, Baet crept at the edge of the conference.

Duboha introduced the grim old man to the Saots. “This is our cousin, Roustich.”

Baet leaned close to Carringten and whispered, “They have more cousins than the duke.”

Carringten shooed at his commentary as Duboha continued. “…he has unsettling news out of the south.”

“There is blood,” Roustich said, getting straight to the point. “Bouge marauders have sacked the town of Solveny.”

“Solveny?” Creigal replied, curious to hear trouble for that town. “That is Dunkel lands, the county of High Plains. What trouble has fallen upon them?”

“Word out of Land’s End is that Bouge marauders have sacked the town,” Roustich answered. “They come out of Rynth Falls.”

“Rynth Falls,” Creigal shook his head. “I know little of the place, other than it is a Trohl outpost on the border of the Noeth.”

“Well, I am not surprised to be hearing of it,” Duboha stated. “There was speculation that Kezodel was forming an army there—though nobody could figure to what end. He certainly wasn’t going to use it to protect the west lands,” he shrugged. “Perhaps they simply lashed out at the nearest Saot city.”

“If Kezodel was involved, than we can assume the Ministrians are also involved,” Creigal stated. “Which means King Gred duReb would know of it, along with Count Drefford. And since it was Solveny that was attacked, even the Dunkels might be in on it…” he speculated.

“There’s more,” Roustich said. “One of the Saot duchies is allied to these Bouge. They wore red and black with a raptor as their emblem.”

Creigal glanced down at his ring to see what one might call a bird, a kite, or even a raptor.

“Gaurs?!” Baet shook his head. “We don’t trade in the Noeth lands! Who’d believe we’re making secret alliances with a people we don’t even know?!”

“In times of war, sense goes right out the window,” Carringten noted.

“I mean, how is it that we are attacking the Bouge in the west, and allied to them in the south?!” Baet raged. “This makes no sense!”

“There are more contradictions,” Creigal shrugged. “How could these Trohls be convinced to strike south at Solveny, instead of going after Wibbeley, where their troubles truly originate? Indeed, questions abound.”

“So a bunch of Trohls and Ministrians sack a Noethrin town under false colors—but to what end?” Aim wondered.

“Minist wants war between the Noeth and Gaurring,” Creigal surmised. “Minist always wants war—wherever she can get it—and Solveny is a perfect target. It is subject and very loyal to Yurand, Count of the High Plains.” He cursed. “Indeed, he has always dealt fair with me in the past—but I had never thought he was a marked man.”

“But why would your King and the Duke of Land’s End wish to strike against the count of High Plains?” Duboha asked. “Isn’t Yurand a bannerman to the Dunkels?”

“Oh, Yurand is sworn to Land’s End,” Creigal agreed. “But they do not like each other. The animosity between these two families is well known, and the current generations care nothing for each other,” he continued. “Still, one finds himself with the alliances he has, and not always the alliances he wants—so although the Dunkels may not like High Plains, they will cry foul, and point the finger at me.”

“So it’s all just a giant ruse,” Aim noted.

“Indeed,” Creigal frowned. “In the name of Solveny, the Dunkels will mount an army, drive it south to Gaurring, and raise a ruckus. And at the same time, they will likely leave these meddlesome Bouge to spar with Yurand.”

“Now I see the sense of it,” Duboha nodded. “Land’s End means to blame this all on an imagined alliance between you and the Bouge, even though it is the Ministrians that are driving all of this.”

“Politics,” Carringten spit.

“Always politics at the heart of war,” Creigal agreed. “Yurand will be incensed, but there will be little he can do about it, especially if Solveny is destroyed. High Plains is less than half its size. Still, High Plains is a more defendable position. Solveny just had more people.”

“Do you think they’re simply taking advantage of your absence?” Aim asked.

“Perhaps our enemies think too much of me,” Creigal replied. “Or perhaps they think their Jaded Blades will be successful. Or perhaps they think I will not hear the news…”

“But you have,” Roustich smiled. “And now their troubles begin.”

“We might have little to do with it,” Creigal said—though he had to admit, this all put a whole new wrinkle in things.

Baet studied his master. “Then you still hope to find Humbert’s trail?”

“Will we find it at all?” Cregial replied. “I guess we shall know shortly.”

“But war,” Roustich countered.

Creigal shrugged. “We’ve been at war with the king for over a decade.”

“But now it is an open war,” Duboha stated. “Can you hope to stand against the other duchies of the Kingdom when they have the backing of Empire?”

“The Empire has interests in Hof Hebrin, Borzia, and the Trohl Freelands,” Creigal replied. “On top of that, what makes you think they have enough men to capture Gaurring?”

“There certainly seem to be enough of them mucking about…” Duboha muttered.

Creigal shook his head. “I do not see how the Empire can manage all its current conquests and still bring any bulk of men to bare against my home,” he shrugged. “But perhaps they think they will not have to. Land’s End has several armies, and if they attack us from the north, Gred duReb can pinch us from the south and west with his own forces. If he has the backing of Kelm and Pagladoria…” he shook his head. “With all that, perhaps it is enough to have a few legions of Ministrians to bolster their numbers.”

“His majesty shall have us on three sides,” Carringten nodded. “With our backs to the Breck,” he smiled.

“No,” Creigal replied. “By now the King must know that we do not war with the Breck. I suspect he knows that the fighting between us was nothing but pretense. What are the chances he hasn’t sniffed out at least a few of our deceptions?”

Carringten shrugged. “He must know something.”

“Whatever he knows, he thinks he can win a war, and so he has acted against us,” Creigal replied. “I fear the fighting will soon reach the duchy.”

Aim shook his head. “This all seems like a lot of trouble for your king just so he can go to war with one of his own duchies.”

“But you see, he has to justify such a war, or he’ll make the other duchies nervous,” Creigal replied. “It is also a convenient way to turn enemies into allies—as he’s done with the Bouge under Kezodel’s influence. They believe they are at war with the Saot, even though it is Minist that presents all their problems. So they sack Solveny, unaware that some of the foreigners among them are painting an innocent party as the culprit. It doesn’t hurt if this ruins Yurand, since he is at odds with the Dunkels anyway. And then you also have the way it will be presented to the other duchies: Pagladoria, Ewile, and Kelm. My enemies paint me in a bad light, so although my peers may not support the king, they will not support us either.”

“These other duchies will not join the King?“ Duboha asked.

“Well,” Creigal contemplated. “I could see Pagladoria and Kelm sending troops and aid, even without such a ruse, but Ewile is likely to sit aside,” he noted. “My father was a student of their queen Smixsmaxmia, and I feel they have not strayed too far from her teachings. Indeed, if we should win this fight—and we do not aim to lose—we might see them declaring themselves independent of the throne,” he shrugged.

“So it looks to be Gaur and the Breck against Danya, the Noeth, Kelm, Pagladoria, and the vast hordes of Empress Seveticah,” Aim began. “But at least Ewile will sit it out,” he shook his head.

“You make it sound hopeless!” Baet smirked. “Don’t you know that we have black powder!?”

Aim and Duboha glanced at each other sideways. They didn’t consider that to be any sort of an advantage. Duboha turned back to the duke. “Do you think your king engages because you have left the duchy?”

“I do not think so,” Creigal shrugged. “It makes sense that he would act while I am far from home, yet, war is slow. It is more likely a coincidence that I have left the duchy just as the King’s plans have started to unfold.”

Carringten turned to Roustich. “Did you say these Trohls were burning and killing their way south, toward Gaurring, with Gaur officers among their number?”

“That is the word,” Roustich nodded.

“Do you think Banifourd and Garfindel might be among those marauders?” Carringten asked.

“I had not considered it,” Creigal replied.

“They seem the type to relish such dirty work,” Baet spit. “Especially Garf.”

“It does explain why they did not trail us, why they sent the Jaded Blades instead,” Creigal shook his head. “How did I ever trust such men?”

“One does not always like the alliances he has,” Carringten shrugged. “Banifourd was sworn to you. Despite open disagreements, he served you well and often. He was also at hand and known to have connections in the Noeth,” the captain stated. “There was every indication that he was the right man to bring.”

“Yet, he turned on me,” Creigal noted. “When I needed him most, he turned on me.”

“And that,” Baet elbowed Aim. “Is how a good spy operates.”

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

Naiphan and Bruck refused to carry any of the steel coins, leaving them all for Meriona. She huffed as she humped all five bags down the road, a good thirty or forty pounds of small steel rounds.

The two Jaded Blades were slowly leaving Meriona behind as mile after grueling mile was ground under their boots. They were several hundred paces away when Meriona finally dropped the bags of near worthless coin and began shouting at the two men.

“Stop!” She pleaded. “Wait for me!” She called several times before they finally responded. The two men stopped, turned, and stood arms akimbo as they waited for her to catch up. Heads cocked, they stared, as Meriona slowly picked the sacks off the ground and stumbled forward once more. She was not quick about it—nor did they wait. She was still a good twenty or thirty yards out when they turned around and continued down the road ahead of her. She grit her teeth as she cursed their names.

The sun sagged as a smattering of clouds brought an on-and-off drizzle that must have lasted a good hour. The light rain was almost perfect in the way it cut the heat—though it didn’t pool enough so that she could drink any of it. The lake wasn’t any better. The ground turned to mush long before there was enough water on the surface. Instead, she simply went without—which was better than getting stuck in the mud. At least the rain chased off the flies.

After the rain finally let up, Naiphan and Bruck turned and began to shout at the woman. Meriona couldn’t make out what they were saying. Were they in danger? Were people coming? She thought she should get off the road and hide, except that Naiphan and Bruck made no move to conceal themselves. Instead, she hurried her steps as the Jaded Blades made impatient gestures. When she finally caught up to them, all they did was insult her. “Speed up, you dumb cooze, or we’ll never make camp before it gets dark!” Bruck scolded.

“If you’re in such a rush, you could always help with the coin,” Meriona pointed.

“You carry the coin because you’re in charge,” Naiphan told her.

“Well, if I’m in charge, then I demand you carry the coin.”

Naiphan grinned and shook his head at the senior Jay. “You got me,” he said as he stared her straight in the eye. “You’re not in charge. With that, he turned and continued walking.

Meriona rolled her eyes.

The marsh at the edge of the lake receded. Soon, the swamp was gone. There was now a dry edge to the lake, and Meriona realized they were approaching the campsite where the leviathan had attacked. “We’re not staying here,” she said, shaking her head. She had no interest in the cursed site.

“The beast is gone,” Naiphan replied. “It’s safe.”

“Last time it seemed safe too,” Meriona noted.

Naiphan smiled again and leered at her with haggard teeth. He turned to Bruck and chuckled.

Bruck also started to laugh. He turned between Naiphan and Meriona, then set his eyes on Naiphan. “What’s so funny?”

“Well,” Naiphan shrugged. “It’s funny because she doesn’t realize it isn’t safe this time either—at least, not for her—” and with that, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Hey!” Meriona jerked and tried to pull away—but the Jaded Blade had a firm grip.

Meriona dropped the coins—all but one bag that she held in her off-hand—which she swung at Naiphan. It caught him in the shoulder and the sheer weight of it knocked him off balance. Then, Meriona kicked his shin and twisted her arm, which was enough to break free.

Keeping the one bag of coin, since it doubled as a weapon, Meriona turned and ran. She screamed as she sprinted down the road.

A bag of coin dropped out of the sky in front of her—then another hit her in the back and caused her to stumble. She lurched, corrected her step, and had just started to run again when Bruck tackled her from behind.

“No!” she screamed. “Get off me!” she turned and tried to rake his face. A couple sharp nails caught Bruck’s nose and left cheek—but her right ring finger snagged in his mouth, and he caught the first knuckle between his teeth. Bruck bit down and Meriona could feel the skin breaking.

“Ow, ow, owww!” she cried, and held still, so he might not bite her finger off—but he did so all the same. Then, as she screamed and cradled what was left of her offended finger, Bruck punched her in the face.

Woozy, Meriona opened her eyes. A fiery pain sang from her hand. With a gasp, she swung her left fist—but it was a clumsy blow, and easily turned aside. Still sitting on her, and with blood all about his mouth, Bruck grinned, chomped her finger, and spit the pieces in her face.

Meriona shrieked.

As she screamed, Bruck pulled back and smashed her in the face again. His heavy fist broke one of her teeth and knocked her unconscious. She swallowed the tooth so she wouldn’t choke.

Meriona was out. Bruck tugged at her clothes, then took her in the road, as gravel scratched and scraped at her back.

As he was having his way with her, Meriona came to and thought to fight him—but whenever she did, he simply hit her until she went limp again. Finally finished, Bruck wrapped his fingers about her neck and started to squeeze.

Meriona was sure she was dead, but Bruck let up when Naiphan punched him in the side of the face. Bruck stood and squared off against the other Jaded Blade.

“Slow down,” Naiphan snapped at his friend. “I know you like ‘em dead. But I prefer ‘em squirmin’.”

Bruck glared. “Well, take your turn, then the bitch dies!”

“After,” Naiphan said, then turned to Meriona as she tried to crawl away. She was a good dozen feet down the road when Naiphan caught up to her, put a heavy boot against her hip, and pushed her on to her back.

“Please stop,” Meriona cried. “Please…”

Naiphan tsked. “Still tellin’ us what to do, trying to be in charge,” he said. “Do you ever learn?”

He climbed on top of her and she tried to fight him off, but she was drained, and he caught the stub of her finger in his hand and squeezed.

Meriona screamed bloody murder as pain shot up her arm.

“Well,” Naiphan smiled. “I do like it when you sing,” he purred and pressed himself into her. “Now take it nice, or maybe Bruck won’t have to kill you after all.”

Meriona whimpered as she tried to push him off, but she was too drained. Naiphan simply jammed one hand into her face or squeezed a tit until she screamed. “If it weren’t for you always fightin’ and distractin’ us, we woulda had that bounty!” Naiphan asserted. “But no. You gotta stir up trouble. You got two of me brothers dead!” He snapped at her.

Meriona closed her eyes and cried.

“That’s right,” he said as he pushed more and more violently. “Cry for my dead brothers.”

Thank the gods, he finally finished. Meriona curled into a fetal position. She heard the scuff of boots approaching and expected Bruck would either take her again or kill her. Probably both. She prayed he’d kill her first.

“No,” she heard Naiphan say. “Let’s leave her. What’s worse than the misery of being powerless?”

“That cunt…” Bruck began, the animosity seeping from his words, as he delivered a kick to her ribs.

“Leave her be, and maybe when she’s better she’ll come out west,” Naiphan cut in. He leaned close to her. “Come back home, so when we see you, we can do this little dance again,” he grinned.

Bruck spit on her, then kicked her in the stomach for good measure. “Don’t be thinking you get to keep my seed,” he sneered.

Sucking air, Meriona heard the two men stomp off. Finally regaining her breath, she relaxed against the uneven gravel, and closed her eyes.

It was dark when Meriona woke again—and thank Rauthmaug she was alone! Her dress was missing. She lifted her head, despite the throbbing pain, and searched for it in the road. Little did she know Naiphan took it with him.

Meriona was cold and sticky with her own blood; blood in her hair and eyes, on her chest, between her legs. Aside from the various pains left by Naiphan and Bruck, her biggest concern was a rock digging into her back. With a groan and her good hand, Meriona picked the stone and glanced at it. She was surprised to see that it wasn’t nearly as big as it felt. With a huff, she crawled off the road and rested her face on a soft patch of grass. She closed her eyes against the aches that the Jaded Blades had caused her and kept the rock just in case they returned.

Deep in the night, something licked at the blood on her injured finger. When it bit her, Meriona woke with a fright. Not even looking, she swung the rock she’d kept cradled in her other hand. The rock bounced off bone. The beast gave a yelp and slunk away, perhaps nothing more than a coyote. After several minutes of staring off into the dark, Meriona put her face in the grass once more and went back to sleep.

The sun was up, bright and hot, the next time she woke. Strong hands were lifting her off the ground. Thinking it was Bruck and Naiphan, returned to finish the job, she kicked and struggled and caused them to drop her.

“Well,” a strange voice clucked. “Sill alive after all…”

“We ain’t here to hurt you,” a second voice added, a soft voice, a female voice. “If you let us, we’ll tend your wounds and try to get you feeling better. Or if you’d rather have us leave you, just keep fightin’ and we’ll get the point.”

Meriona turned and tried to see who was there, but the bright sun was blinding, and all she could make out were three shadows. She closed her eyes, and this time when strong hands lifted her gently from the ground, she let them.

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