A Settling of Debts and A Parting of Ways

Polished 19.1 — 28m54s — 2022/09/19

Polished 19.2 and 19.3 — 1h10m33s — 2022/09/20

Polished 19.4, 19.5, and 19.6 — 1h06m42s — 2022/09/21

Polished 19.1 and 19.2. Consider making it just one man that talks to Creigal of Humbert. Also, need to add the section where Creigal talks to Krumpus — 48m33s — 2022/12/15

Polished 19.1 and 19.2. made is so there’s just one man that witnessed Humbert and also began to fill out 19.3 — 1h00m44s — 2022/12/23

Polished 19.1, 19.2, and fleshed out 19.3 — 2h02m34s — 2022/12/25

Polished 19.4 and 19.5. I’m considering moving 19.5 to the next the chapter… — 55m33s — 2022/12/26

Polished 19.6 and 19.7 — 24m54s — 2022/12/27

Polished 19.1 and 19.2. Adjusted chapter 17.1 to reflect that Komotz comes home. This book is coming together quite nicely — 59m35s — 2023/03/31

Polished 19.3, 19.4, 19.5, 19.6, and 19.7 — 1h53m01s — 2023/03/31

Baet anticipated slow days with little responsibility among the Jindleyak. The duke was as safe as he’d been in a number of years, probably safer, so the guard expected a long leash and plenty of time for leisure—much of which he hoped to spend in the close proximity of Paye.

He was strolling the gardens, thinking of Paye when Carringten arrived and interrupted his tranquility. “Baetolamew,” his captain said in a serious voice.

Baet turned, suspecting a shift in the winds. “What is it, sir?”

“Your presence is required,” Carringten ordered.

Baet frowned, gave a nod, and motioned for his captain to lead the way—all the while knowing that surprises that required one’s own eyes are rarely good. The junior guard followed Carringten to a large banquet hall, where there were a couple dozen men, shuffling about, trying not to stare.

Not the duke. He was staring.

“Is it the naga?” Baet asked, hoping that the creature had got loose and caused some havoc. With luck, he only needed to clear up some formality. He stepped further into the room and the issue became apparent. With a deep frown on his grizzled face—Azra held the ornamental crest that Paye had pried off the wall, trimmed with several pounds of precious metals, and a good deal of pricey jewels—and at the old man’s feet was Baet’s open pack. All eyes were on the Saot guard as he realized what was being insinuated. “Now wait a minute,” Baet began. “Why should I take such a thing?! What would I want with that?!”

“With all this gold and silver?” Azra replied, incredulous.

“Mostly silver,” Baet noted. “But that is quite beside the point!”

“The point is, the crest was found in your bag,” Creigal stared. “And why would it be in your bag?”

Dumbstruck, Baet glanced about the room. He noted Homoth in the corner wearing a satisfied smirk. “This was your doing!” Baet raged, and took a step toward the youth.

Carringten grabbed Baet and held him back.

Homoth jumped from his seat and stood to his full height. “So this is how you repay us?!” he charged. “We brought you out of Ebertin, to the safety of our own homes, and despite our kindness, you seek to rob us!” he huffed.

“I would never…!” Baet began. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Creigal shaking his head. He turned to his duke. “You must believe me! This is not my doing! That rogue frames me!”

Creigal simply stared.

Baet turned about the room and spotted Paye next to the open door. He remembered her taking the ornament from above the mantle. He was about to invoke her when he noticed her face was red and streaked with tears. She knew the truth of it. Why did not she speak? He locked eyes with the woman.

Paye stared back at the man, shock and fear on her face. She shook her head with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth, then turned and rushed from the scene.

Baet realized he was on his own. “No,” he said, as he turned and locked eyes with Creigal, Carringten, Azra, and Homoth; one after the last. ”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!”

Baet couldn’t believe his ears. “Did you just challenge me?!” he replied, shocked that the young rogue might do such a thing. At one time, Baet had considered the young man his friend. Yet, Homoth had set him up—over cards and a handful of silver—and now he was expecting a duel?!

Baet shook his head. He’d seen Homoth fight through the streets of Ebertin, when they were cornered with no way out. He’d sparred against the man and knew he was dangerous—especially when his temper was up. But this was different. The streets of Ebertin saw them cornered and desperate. It was a running fight with bad light, fire, and the arrows of Scurra, Andrus, and Apulton to distract their enemies; and the game of touches was supposed to be a restrained contest. But this—this was cold and calculated, one on one, with no surprises and death as the only conclusion. This was a straight up fight with the highest of stakes. There would be no pulling of punches. Baet stared at the large youth as a fire lit in his stomach. He shook his head again and said, “it’s your funeral.”

Homoth surged toward the guard. Carringten pulled Baet back and stepped in to intercede. Homoth pulled up short and tried to stare down the dark captain. Several Jindleyak men restrained the youth and pulled him to a far corner.

Azra turned to the Saots with a scowl and a huff. He shook his head.

While the others watched, Creigal stripped Baet of his weapons. “I didn’t do this,” Baet protested, though he didn’t resist.

“Whether or not you are guilty, we have agreed to see you arrested,” Creigal told him. “Pray to Acad we get to the bottom of this.”

Carringten and a half dozen armed Jindleyaks escorted Baet through the house; down several flights of stairs, through numerous twisting halls, and several 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 the serpent.

An hour passed, then another. A small plate of plain food was brought by some unknown cousin. “What?!” Baet huffed when the given the food. “I get a sorry lump of bread and some weak broth—yet you bring the naga fresh fried fish?!” he complained.

The jailer frowned, turned, and walked out without a word.

Of late, Baet was well fed, so he ignored the crusty lump of bread and tepid broth. Instead, he paced the small cell. He exercised about the little room and wondered at his fate. Why did Paye run? Why didn’t she set the record straight? Would Creigal do anything to see him freed? Would Homoth really insist on a duel?

Baet wondered how long he might be in this pickle before Creigal could clear his name. Would he be able to convince Azra that his impetuous grandson had framed the good guard? Then Baet wondered if the duke was even convinced of his guard’s innocence? His throat grew tight, and he wondered if maybe the duke thought the charges were legitimate. That’d be a bit of poetic justice!

Baet paused as he realized his fate rested somewhere between the good word of Paye and the want of Creigal’s negotiation. He expected either one should be sufficient, if properly applied, yet wondered if he would get either. He calculated that Creigal was likely to help him out, especially since he saved his life in Wibbeley—and hoped with all his longing heart that Paye would speak with a silver tongue propelled by truth.

Minutes crawled by, slowly adding to hours. The shadows from the single small window were getting long when the door to the jail creaked open yet again. A plate appeared around the corner and Baet wondered that they should bring him another meal. 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 the beautiful Paye!

Paye put on a strong front. She smiled despite her puffy red eyes, as she slowly entered with the heaping plate in front of her. She carried the food as if it were an apology. She was contrite, and Baet wondered if it was because she’d said nothing to her grandsire. At least she was not openly against him, hostile for the sake of her venomous relative!

Or was she? After all, he barely knew her. Was it all a front? Did she help set the trap? Would she try to talk him into taking the fall? Now that he considered it, he realized she could easily be in league with Homoth.

No. He had to believe she was genuine. What else did he have? “Thank you,” Baet smiled as he accepted the bountiful plate. “Did you tell them?” he began in a low tone. “Did you admit that it was you that took the precious curiosity?”

“I did,” Paye said, though she shook her head, “Even so, my grandfather is convinced of your villainy.”

“But you were there!” Baet said. “How can he discount you?”

“Komotz also swore to your villainy,” Paye sniffed.

“But that’s absurd!” Baet huffed. “He was always in his bed!”

“He spoke of you as a cheater and a coward,” Paye shook her head. “Andrus also gave his word.”

“What did he have to add?”

“He said he considers you to be of a low character and apt to take advantage,” Paye said. “He seems to hate you on Homoth’s behalf—and even if there were not three voices against my one, Homoth would easily be believed over me.”

“And why should that be?” Baet asked.

“Among my family, my word is good for little,” Paye shook her head. “After my mother died, I envied a ring that was given to her sister. I stole it, and was even impetuous enough to wear it. One day, she saw the ring and tried to take it back. I bloodied her for her efforts. That’s why I was in Excergie. I thought I might be forgiven after my self-imposed exile—but instead I am framed with you! Indeed, I am doing you no favor by bringing you this plate!”

“Balls,” Baet cursed as his stomach ached. He considered her words and forgot about the food. She offered no hope, but at least he had no reason to think she was against him. Did that not count for something? He looked her in the eye. “You do me great favor. You let me know that you tried.”

“I was duped,” Paye shrugged. “Homoth 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 our grandfather.”

“There’s a letter?!” Baet said, hanging his hope on such evidence.

“There was a letter,” Paye shrugged. “I went to get it from my room, to prove my case, but it was not there. Homoth must have stolen it, and it is quite likely that it is destroyed. My brother is not the type to keep incriminating evidence around.”

Baet paused. “Did you just say Homoth is your brother?”

“He is,” Paye nodded. “And I fear he will kill you. He is a very good fighter.”

“But I shall choose the weapon, and I shall choose the pistol,” Baet pointed. “He cannot beat me with a musket.”

Paye stared at the man, fascination, yet with terror etched around her worried eyes. “You wouldn’t!” she glared.

“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, just as you are not guilty! Indeed, he has wronged you too!”

“But he is my brother!” Paye snapped.

“Tell him to drop the charge,” Baet stared at the lady. “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 my brother!” 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 bars. “Would you have me die in his stead?!”

Paye stared at the man, her face twisted and pained. A tear ran from her eye, and she shook her head.

As heated as he was—and staring at such a beautiful and passionate woman—Baet couldn’t help himself. He 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 and stretched the fabric of their clothes—but after a few minutes of such desperate touching, Paye turned and ran from the room, weeping once more.

“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 cells over, the naga chuckled as he gnawed at the bones of his fish.

“Oh shut up!” Baet glared. “Even if I have to duel, at least I shall get out of here before you!”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

An hour after dark, Roustich returned from Hearthstone with a man that claimed to have seen Humbert. Duboha and his sour old cousin ushered the stranger into a sitting room where Creigal repeated the question. “I’ve been told you seen this thief?”

The stranger was dressed in simple clothes, though they were neat and clean. He nodded. “We spoke at length, as we shared a meal of mutton and mead. He was quite free with his coin, so I was free with my appetite and company.”

“When was this?” Creigal asked.

“More than a month, less than two,” the simpleton stated. “He looked and smelled as if he’d traveled long and hard. His threads were soiled. It was obvious he’d spent several nights on the side of the road. Indeed, he reeked so much, it might of put me off my mutton—if it hadn’t been free.”

“And what convinces you that you spoke with this thief?” Creigal continued.

“He said nothing of thievery,” the man shrugged. “But he certainly seemed the troublesome sort. Indeed, it doesn’t surprise me that one such as yourself comes looking for him. I can say that I was happy to see him leave—especially when he told me he was looking for the Dreadlord Lasitus.”

“Lasitus,” Creigal leaned back. “Now that is a name I had not expected to hear. What can you tell me of him?”

“Just the rumors that every man knows,” the stranger stated.

“Lasitus was a long time ago,” Roustich noted. “If he was ever real, he certainly isn’t anymore.”

The commoner turned on Roustich. “He caused the blight!” The stranger said, while shaking his head. “He is certainly not just some superstition! And your thief was convinced he is still alive!”

“Lasitus came north over two hundred years ago,” Roustich countered. “How could he possibly still be alive?”

“Ahh” Creigal cut in. “Lasitus was said to be a hundred and seventy-three when he stole the King’s Nnak Stone and rode north with a regimen of the King’s army hot on his heels,” the duke explained. “Indeed, it is said that he looked not a day over fifty—and save for maybe a dozen men, the regimen was completely destroyed.”

“One hundred and seventy-three?!” Duboha frowned. “How can anyone live so long?”

“There are ways if one is well versed in the dark arts,” Creigal answered. “But you say he settled in the wilds? He did not settle in one of your cities or towns?”

“He settled in a small village, ringed by high mountains,” Roustich replied. “Now, there’s no one there. Past the Great Blade Ridge is nothing but the blight. It is death to enter, even now, whether or not this Dreadlord survives.” The sour old Jindleyak leaned toward the duke. “Do you really think this Lasitus might still be alive?”

Creigal shrugged. “I have met some that have lived so long—though most are in little condition to do much of anything without their entourage of sycophants, and it takes them a gross amount of blood magick, which requires a gross amount of blood. How he can continue without at least a good sized town to prey upon is beyond me.”

“This thief of yours spoke most convincingly of Lasitus,” the stranger said, a wildness catching in the corner of his eyes. “Not that I need convincing! I’m from the north, a Melmor, and our people have long heard whispers of the Dreadlord’s cruelty,” he shook his head.

“Power and cruelty,” Cregial shrugged. “The two often go hand in hand.”

The lackadaisical air with which the duke spoke of such darkness disturbed the stranger. Bright red and bothered, he took a step forward and pointed at Creigal. “It would serve you well not to piss on the devil!” he snapped. “Lasitus is very much alive and still a danger to anyone that dares approach the blight!”

In response to his quick step, Carringten stood in front of his charge and glared down at the man, though the stranger was taller by half a hand. The stranger pulled up and shrunk away from the menacing dark man.

Creigal raised an arm to appease the good stranger, “I may despise evil, but I am not dumb enough to be caught mocking it,” he answered. “tell me more of this blight.”

“Few go in to the blight because fewer return,” the stranger said. “Those that do manage to come back are all too often chased by the worst kinds of abomination. Mudmen, mandingo, the muttering mistwalker….”

“Well, if Humbert goes to find Lasitus, and we go to find Humbert, it seems we must seek out this Dreadlord and in the very least treat with him,” Carringten stated. “Will you guide us?” he said to the stranger. “We will pay you handsomely.”

The stranger blanched and shook head. “Sir, I’ve never been in the blight! Once I saw it from afar a shudder to remember it. If you had all the gold in the south, I would still not venture into that pit!”

“Leave him be,” Roustich said to the duke. “He is not wrong to fear the blight. But there are others—others that have been in the blight and learned to tell of it. I know a few, though I know none that profess to seeing this Lasitus.”

Creigal nodded and stood from his chair. “Thank you, good sir,” he said, and shook the man’s hand. Carringten gave him a gold sovereign and escorted the stranger from the room.

“I shall find some of my friends, that they may tell us more of the blight,” Roustich said, then turned and left. With a bow, Duboha followed after him.

“So we know where Humbert goes after all,” Carringten said to his duke.

Creigal gave a nod and stared out the window with a finger on his chin. “It appears so,” he said. “What do you think? Should Lasitus worry us?”

“We’ve faced many evil men before, including our own King and his cadre of wizards,” Carringten shrugged. “Still, there is always the threat of danger, even if this Lasitus is just some backwater mystic,” he noted.

Creigal gave a slight nod and continued to stare out the window.

“You suddenly seem uncertain,” Carringten stepped toward his liege. “Are you reconsidering?”

Creigal turned to his captain and stared him in the eye for a long second. “I think I shall have a word with the shaman,” he said with a nod, then stepped from the room.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The shaman wasn’t hard to find. He was directing several men as they loaded crates into a wagon. The crates were full of foxbane. Although another shipment had already gone north with instructions on how to use the flower, Krumpus meant to return to Melmorahn with additional supplies, just in case the distress still raged.

Creigal approached and realized the shaman had developed a bit of a limp. “Are you okay?” He asked, and pointed to his leg.

Krumpus shrugged and gave a nod. He lifted the leg of his pants and showed a bloody imprint of a small set of teeth. Children, he stared the word the duke.

Creigal smirked. “You know, for a healer you certainly seem to get hurt a lot,” he said—then realized he’d never really thought of the man as a healer, but mostly as the mystic that predicted a falling meteor. A possibility struck him. “It was you that healed me, back at the camp,” he realized.

Krumpus smiled and gave the slightest nod. And how have my ministrations treated you? he asked. Are you well?

“I am, thank you,” Creigal smiled, suddenly certain this strange man would indeed have the answers he sought. “Can we have a minute?” he asked as a nervousness, an apprehension tightened his chest.

With a nod, Krumpus led the duke away from the others.

“All my life, I’ve had teachers, councilors, and advisors that might help me make any decision; and as I’ve grown, I’ve needed them less and less,” Creigal began. “Indeed, I have reached a state where I often know what a man might advise long before I asked the question. But those are men I know; so I know their concerns, their conceits, and their prejudices long before they’ve had time to answer. This is why I cannot take my current conundrum to Carringten, for I already know what he would say, and just why he would say it.”

Krumpus smiled and gave a nod.

“Yet I am reticent to tell you, for I also know that none of my advisors has ever been able to tell me just what I should do, for the sake of myself—and this is that sort of question,” Creigal revealed. “This is strictly a question of what is best for me. Not my people. Not my title. Just me.”

Well, let us assume that whatever is best for you is also best for the world, Krumpus postulated.

“One cannot do well for the world if one is not taking care of himself,” Creigal agreed. “I am at an impasse,” he continued. “I have a choice to make: do I go north and pursue a thief—a pursuit that has already cost me far too much already—and yet I am willing to sacrifice so much more—or do I return home? Do I return to a war that’s been raging in secret for decades, a war that will is escalating, that shall soon boil into the streets?

Krumpus stared into Creigal’s eyes. These are not the reasons you would go one way or another, he noted. These are simply the justifications you give to others. You shroud your true motivations so that others cannot use your desires against you.

Creigal considered the shaman’s words, and with a nod, admitted their truth. “I have no interest in going to war,” he confessed. “If I go south, it is because there is a new lady in my life. I did not intend for it to happen, but now that it has, I wish only to spend time with her. And it is not justice that drives me north. It is little more than the memory of my daughter that spurs me on. If I should catch the thief, it will change little in the greater world. All I shall have is a locket, and inner peace. But if I go south, it might be my home once more, for there will be love in it—and who am I to deny love?” he wondered.

Well, they would not call it a decision if the course was already decided, Krumpus smiled. Perhaps add this to your considerations: I have business in Melmorahn. I go north no matter what you do. If you should like to join me—well—I would not be surprised if we found a good deal of men willing to see you into the blight. There are many that wish to destroy the evil that lives there.

And if you go south, the shaman continued, you now have friends that can help you in your war, for we can provide you with intelligence of what occurs in Trohl lands. Indeed, we have friends and family from Ebertin to Gramgoar, from Land’s End to Melmorahn.

“And what is it that you think I should do?” Creigal finally asked. “Should I go north with a single-minded determination to bring a crook to justice; or should I go south and open my life up to all the toil, triumph, and torture that love and war entail?”

What do I think? Krumpus stared into the duke’s eyes, then slowly smiled. I think you should sit. You should sit, open to the question. Sit, and let the answer rise out of you. It will bolster you so much so that nothing but death itself will be able to drive you from your path. There will be no doubts, no second guessing. There will only be one way forward.

Creigal considered his words, then gave a nod, for he thought they were wise. “Then I will let you know,” the duke said. “As soon as I know, you will know.”

Well, you do not strike me as the type to vascilate and dawdle, so I will wait, Krumpus replied. There is still plenty for me to do here, even if it is only playing with my daughters. Indeed, what could be more important than that? He smiled; and with that, the shaman turned and walked away, intent on seeing to his preparations.

Creigal turned. He stepped through the gardens and thought nothing of his question. Instead, he simply took in the beauty of the scenery, the finery of Azra’s estate, and the business of his people. He considered their industry and the way the fields lay.

The sun began to set.

Creigal joined the others for dinner; and though he sat next to Meu, he offered her no promises and divulged no considerations. When they talked, they said nothing of the future, nothing of what would come tomorrow. Still, he smiled at her, and drank in her beauty. Indeed, he even went to bed with her and held her through the night. But that night—as he lay with the skin-walker and considered the fine home they might yet make together—he slept. And as he slept, he dreamed. He dreamed of his daughter, and she begged him to continue; so when he woke, he knew his path was set.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Knowing that he would go north, Creigal sat down and wrote several letters. The first was addressed to the Dunkels of Land’s End. It said that Gaurring played no part in the sacking of Solveny, and that any Gaur among the invading army was acting against his interests. They were traitors to be captured and punished according to their crimes. He also stated that Gaurring would broke no interference in her own affairs, and that any retaliation against the duchy would be seen as an act of war. He made a copy of this letter and addressed it to Yurand, so that the count of High Plains might also have the duke’s words—though he offered further considerations to the count of High Plains. Then he wrote to Varius and his other councilmen, that they may have his instructions. The fourth and final letter was addressed to the Gaurring public, and Varius was to read it and disseminate its words throughout the duchy with all possible haste.

With this correspondence written, Creigal needed a courier. He felt that ideally he’d be able to send Baet, and in this way he could be done with the man, but Azra was not interested in bargaining for the guard’s freedom, and Homoth was downright hostile when asked to drop the issue. Indeed, Creigal was puzzled by the young man’s vehemence, and even tried to explain that the Saot was a seasoned and cunning fighter. Such a chance should not be taken lightly. But Homoth persisted and would not even hear the end of the argument.

Since he would not even consider sending Carringten—his adopted son would never agree to going anyway—Creigal realized he’d have to hire from among the native population. He spread word through Duboha and was surprised when Andrus volunteered. “I’ll go,” the young cousin said. “The weather turns, and winter isn't far behind. I've never had much love of the snow.”

Creigal frowned since he felt the answer was flippant and made light of the dangers. “There will be snow in Gaurring,” he answered. “We’re not that far south.”

“Shall there be as much?” Andrus replied with a grin. “Besides, who doesn't long to see the ocean?”

“Your duties would not oblige you to go that far south,” the duke shook his head. "And the journey is not without dangers. If the wrong people catch you carrying my letters, it’ll be your death, and it will spoil a number of my secrets.”

“Then I shall not get caught,” Andrus replied. He stared back at the duke, his manner suddenly serious. “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.”

Still unconvinced, Creigal shook his head. “Your Saot is not the strongest,” he noted.

“Well, I shall have ample time to study,” Andrus noted. “Besides, I shall have little to say until I reach Gaurring Heart anyway.”

Creigal smiled, as he was beginning to enjoy the young man’s smart replies. He liked Andrus, although he felt the youth was a touch impetuous. Maybe if he was away from his cousins, Homoth and Komotz… He turned to Duboha, to see if the second had any objections.

“I was teaching him to be a sneak in Ebertin,” Duboha noted. “He might be a touch green, but he took his lessons well and learned a good deal.”

“You are trusting him with your own money,” Creigal replied. Still, the young Jindleyak might be fine as long as he kept his head down and his eyes up. “Alright then,” the duke turned to Andrus, that he might give him a bit more instruction. “We shall have you stay clear of Gaurring Heart. Even at the best of times, it is crawling with spies, and only about half of them are mine. Instead, you will go to Bastion's Crossing—but it is not reallythe duchy that worries me. There I have people and systems in place. I think it will be easy for you to find my men. No. I'm more concerned with the Noeth, with Land's End, and the delivery of the letter to the Dunkels. It must be done with great care.”

“Once I am in town, shall I take on a costume and hire a post runner to see it delivered to court?” Andrus asked.

Creigal smiled, happy to hear such quick thinking from the man. Yet, he shook his head. “I’d prefer the letter appear as a mystery to the Dunkels—and within their personal quarters, if it can be managed. I’d like them to think that I can get closer than they find comfortable—and I cannot ask you to do such a dangerous thing. It would be suicide for you. Instead, I ask that you deliver it to a spy of mine. Tahoran, a careful and cunning man that’s been in that city for years. He shall see that the letter is delivered,” Creigal explained. “How soon can you leave?”

“Well, there are a few things I’d like to square away before such a long journey,” Andrus shrugged. “I can leave by the end of tomorrow, so long as you don’t mind me going through Hearthstone.”

Creigal nodded. “I have no money of my own. I shall give you a letter for the price of your employ. Of course, you are also agreeing to bring back the coin that I borrowed from Traust, and more that I have borrowed from the shaman.”

“How long do you think this shall take me?” Andrus asked.

“If you move with care—and I expect you to—I suppose it shall take a couple of months,” Cregial answered. “Money matters such as these are best completed the first time.”

“Speaking of danger, I fear I cannot do all this for less than two sovereign,” Andrus replied.

Creigal smiled. “If It was only your time—but your very person will be at risk,” he replied. “I shall pay you three for the trip down, and I shall pay you three more for your return. After all, your charge is not finished until you have helped me repay my debts.”

Andrus smiled, gave a nod, and shook the duke’s hand. Six sovereign! What a sum! he thought. “If it is okay with you, and if it is okay with my grandfather, I would like to see the ocean.”

“It’ll take you weeks out of your way,” Creigal replied, then gave a shrug. “I suppose I’m not opposed. After all, it is the ocean, and it is quite a thing a to see,” he smiled. And with that, they were settled.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Celesi was minding her own business—which is to say that she was sulking—when Andrus found her somewhere among the verdant growth of Azra’s gardens. “Oh, leave me alone!” she snapped, too wrapped up in her own disappointment to hear the young man’s news.

Andrus glared, and Celesi figured he was mad at her. Not that it bothered her. After all, she was rather mad at the world and didn’t mind a fight.

“What happened to you?!” Andrus asked. “Did Toar finally tell you off?”

Celesi glared back at him, embarrassed, as tears filled her eyes.

“Where is he?” Andrus glanced around. “If he hurt you, I’ll snap his fingers!”

“What?! No! Leave him be!” Celesi shook her head. “If you have something to say for yourself, have it out, but if you came to bother me about my other friendships, it is best that you go!”

Andrus stood straight and stiff. “I carry mail for the duke, but I wanted to see you before I left,” he confessed.

Celesi wondered why Toar couldn’t stare at her in such a manner—but then she knew why. Still, she didn’t want this attention. "What makes you think I’m not okay?” she snipped.

“You’ve been sulking,” Andrus noted. “It seems to me the only one sulking more than you is Toar, so I figured something must have happened.”

“And do you also check up him?” Celesi asked. “But no. You have lusting eyes, like the Saot guard that rots in his jail.”

Andrus felt that was unfair. After all, he had nothing against Toar personally, and only disliked him because Celesi favored him so.

For a long second, Celesi stared at the young man, and her unprovoked quips made her feel sorry for him. “Well, I do appreciate you checking up on me,” she admitted. “But I promise I am quite alright. I am free, among friends, and well fed. So what if Toar should go north! So what if I will never see him again!?”

“What makes you think you shall never see him again?” Andrus asked.

“And even if I should?” she shrugged and kicked dirt. “Perhaps it is simply that I do not want to see him again,” she said—although she could barely speak the words—they tasted so bitter. With a gulp, she changed the subject. “What of you?” She asked. “What do you intend?”

“I go south,” he said again. “I carry post for the duke.”

“Do you plan to stay in the south?”

“It is my mission to return,” Andrus answered. “Will you be here when I return?”

“I suppose,” Celesi shrugged. “I’m not going north with the duke, if that’s what you’re asking. I'm told it could be dangerous, and I’ve had plenty of danger in the last few years. I should like to take it easy for a while, if I can.”

For a long second, Andrus simply stared at her with a question in his eyes.

“What is it?” Celesi asked.

“Can I show you something?” Andrus asked, a suspicious grin creeping over his face. Before she could answer, he was pulling off his shirt.

When he started to unbutton his pants, Celesi turned and protested. “What?! No! What are you doing?!” She backed several steps. “Stop!” she ordered and turned away.

“It’s okay,” he said, as stripped himself naked.

“Not at all!” She complained. “This isn’t okay in the least!” she shrieked, especially since she realized she was backed in a corner.

Suddenly, the light seemed to go from the world. Shocked to have such thick shadow come over her, Celesi turned back toward Andrus, confused as a darkness gathered around the young Jindleyak. Then, when it lifted, Andrus was no longer there! Celesi couldn’t help but stare at the creature that stood before her. For several long seconds she had nothing to say as her mouth hung agape. She blinked, then shook her head, and said, “so that’s how it’s done!”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Carringten led Baet to the barn. There were several Jindleyak about the outside, trying to act inconspicuous. Baet knew they were there to make sure the Saots didn’t try anything funny.

None of the natives were inside. There was only Creigal, sitting in a chair, with a small table and another chair, in the middle of a wide open area. Carringten waited at the door while Baet approached and sat with the duke. “You must know I was framed,” Baet said to the duke.

“Were you now?” Creigal replied.

“By Homoth,” Baet nodded. “Ask Paye, the sister. She will tell you the truth of it.”

Eyebrows arched as Creigal continued to stare. “And what did you do that Homoth would frame you?”

“He believes that I cheated him,” Baet complained. “You must convince Azra that is not so.”

“I have talked with Azra. He is not happy about the duel, but he will not interfere,” Creigal stated.

“And Homoth?”

Creigal shook his head. “He is determined.”

“Then I shall have to kill him,” Baet replied. “I’d rather not.”

“However it happens, I shall not be here to see it,” Creigal told him. “We leave in the morning. We go north, after the thief.”

“You would go without me?” Baet asked. “But I have pledged to keep you safe. I cannot honor my oath if you leave me here. Will you not stay for the duel, to see that they release me once it is over?”

“Now I see you concerns,” Creigal grinned and locked eyes with his guard. “So you wish to honor your oath?" he mused.

Baet made to reply, but the duke lifted a finger and shook his head. He was not finished, and would not have his guard answer just yet.

Creigal stood and began to pace around Baet. He looked the guard up and down, then began to speak again. "You should know that honor is a thing I take very seriously. Honor, loyalty, courage,” he said. “I have not forgotten your valiant protection of my person near Wibbeley,” 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 at the rafters of the barn. "I..." He began, in hopes of defending himself—but thoughts of Haddelton, thoughts of Vearing, thoughts of his other friends among the guard convinced him it was best to admit the truth 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. The duke 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," he 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. Then, once I was compromised, he talked me into letting 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 liar 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, that he would only take from the flowers," Baet held out the palms of his hands.

“Do you have anything else to confess?”

“Only that I kept it from you for so long,” Baetolamew answered. “I am sorry. Mostly, I am sorry for the lives of my friends—my fellow guards. They are the ones that beg for my confession.”

Creigal nodded, his demeanor calm. “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 this 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? Why would he risk his life to kill you?” Creigal stared at his guard. “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. “Does it not matter that I am framed?”

“And why are you framed?” Creigal repeated.

“The brothers hate me.”

“And what reasons have you given them to hate you? Can you tell me honestly that there are no reasons, or that the reasons are without cause?” Creigal stared at his guard. Baet did not answer, and so the duke continued. “You are careless, just as you were with Humbert. Homoth and Komotz—have you not noticed their rising anger?! Did it come upon you so unexpected?! Are you not a talented and decorated spy?! Have you lost all sense of subtlety?!”

“You are right,” Baet nodded. “I gave them reason. I have lost my edge. Indeed, I am dulled and serve without passion.” He looked up at the duke. “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. If you can see yourself through this, there is a chance of a rich rewarding life for you. But you must embrace it. You must turn from your foolishness,” he advised. “Whatever it is that you choose to do, you and I are finished. There is nothing left between us but payment for your services."

With that, 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.

Eyes wide, Baet leaned 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 an assassination.

Creigal’s face changed, suspicious and aggrieved, he stared at the guard as he closed his fist about the coins. “Yet, it was your betrayal that allowed my enemies to move against me. It was because of you that so many of my guards were killed, some of my favorite men among them—so you see my quandary,” he said as he opened and closed his fist about the coins. “If I should give you this, 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 stared at the ground, trying to control his breath and temper. There was so much more to say, and yet he dare confess his heart. He felt it was simply best to keep his peace and have done with it. Was he not trained to keep his secrets?At least in the end, he should remember his training.

The duke sat before him, stared at the guard, and separated a small stack of silver from the rest. He pushed thirty diems across the table. “Well then, this is it. This is all you shall have from me. Good day to you, and may Abra save your soul.”

Baet was incredulous. It was a pittance, an insult!

Still, any silver was better than nothing, and with it came freedom. He would never serve the duke another day in his life. That was something. It was certainly a lot better than Meriona and the Jaded Blades got, and they caused no blood.

Baet scooped the coin and gave Creigal a stiff bow. “Honor, loyalty, courage,” he said, then turned and proceeded from the barn as Carringten joined him.

Carringten walked next to Baet as several Jindleyaks followed at a discrete distance. The captain held out his hand. “I know you left most of your belongings in Gaurring Heart, but I ask that you surrender any device of the Duke you may have upon you.”

Baet only had one item with him, a lead coin of simple and base design, but the coin and the proper words to match it marked its carrier as a member of Creigal’s Fifth Column; his secret army of spies, sneaks, and assassins. Baet gave the strange round to his captain.

Carringten glanced at the coin, then slipped it in his pocket with a grunt. “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 replied.

Carringten shrugged. “You are not eligible to serve among the duke’s elite ranks, but you are by no means banished. Indeed, if you wish to serve among his regulars, you may even return to a military life.”

Baet considered it for a split second, then shook his head. He would never serve the duke again. “There are a few items I’d like to recover,” he noted. “Perhaps not enough to bother,” he shrugged. “We shall see.”

Carringten stared at the junior guard. He stopped, and Baet stopped with him. For a long second, they simply stared at each other. “When did you lose heart?” the captain asked.

Baet shook his head and turned to go—but Carringten stopped him as the question continued to hang. A spark caught in Baet’s belly, and he thought, why not? Why not give the man such answers? He’d asked, after all! His expression growing dark. “For a long time I believed,” he began. “It wasn’t until Pagladoria that questions arose.”

“What was it that drove you from our righteous cause?” Carringten wondered.

“You had me kill a child!” Baet roared. “A girl! Eight?! Nine years old?!”

“Ahh,” Carringten sighed. “I remember…”

“I begged you!” Baet interrupted and 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 captured, tortured, and killed too many of our spies, destroyed several of our secret allies, and learned far too many of our secrets; and he did it with that girl,” the captain explained.

“Are you sure?!” Baet charged. “Even after I killed her, daddy killed four more men—almost five!” Baet said as he pressed a thumb into his own chest.

“And how do you think they found you?” Carringten replied. “Indeed, I think it is a good thing you struck when you did, or he might have killed you first.”

“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 in his eyes. “I have no problem with war,” he shook his head. “But I did not sign up to murder children!”

“It is far more complicated than that,” Carringten stated.

“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 I was told it had to be the girl,” he continued with a grim face, his voice barely above a whisper now, as he glared at the captain. “I didn’t want to! I stalled as long as I dared! Then I did it, and I was damned quiet! I killed her guards with no sound at all, and stuck a nursemaid that happened to get too close. I strangled the girl and stared into her eyes as they bored into mine,” he anguished. “Why did you make me do it?!” he asked. “Why did I have to be as bad as our enemies?!”

“The child had weird abilities,” Carringten told him. “How do you think her father was able to ferret out so many of our spies? And why do you think the attacks stopped as soon as you fled?” Carringten asked. “Did you even know the attacks stopped, or did you lose track of events in Rottershelm once you came home?”

Baet shook his head. “I couldn’t hear any of it. Any news from Rottershelm and I thought only of that child. I thought only of how the gods must hate me for what I did.”

“Well then, let me tell you,” Carringten said. “After she died, the viceroy’s intelligence dried up, and we’ve been able to reestablish ourselves in the Kingdom’s largest city.”

Baet shook his head. “Was the girl a chimera?” he asked.

Carringten shrugged. “We have no idea how she knew of our spies. All we had were suspicions, and once she died, we know that our losses stopped.”

“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 other order,” he shook his head. He looked away and continued to shake his head “No. We have too many secrets,” he continued. “Layers and layers of secrets, until I’m not even sure we’re the good guys anymore. How can I be sure, when we are as low as our enemies?”

“It is war,” Carringten shrugged. “Men die daily. Men, women, children… do you think women and children are immune to the effects of war?” he asked. “Admittedly, 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—and that is the way we want it, because there must be war if would free ourselves from those that would control us.”

“Well, it may soon be open war anyway, if it is all as they say,” Baet noted.

“Yes,” Carringten agreed. “Our enemies are pushing for open war, and I think they shall have it. And as the dying commences, we shall do everything we can to make sure it them that does the majority of it.” He put a finger in Baet’s chest. “You used to know this.”

“I think I’ve had enough of your admonishments,” Baet huffed. “Lead me to my cell, that I might rest, that I might never kill again.”

“Except for one?” Carringten noted. “Just one more time?”

“Yes, well…” Baet shrugged. He turned and began to walk away. “I suppose I cannot stop others from committing suicide by my hand.”

“Almost,” Carringten nodded and grabbed the junior guard by his shoulder, “I am almost done with you.”

Baet turned and squared himself to the captain. He wanted to hit him so bad.

Carringten pulled a small purse from his pocket and held it out.

“What is this?” Baet glared at the man, uncertain what to think. He lifted his hand to receive the small purse.

“The duke is thankful for years of loyal service,” Carringten began. “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,” he finished.

Baet blinked “Why didn’t he say so?”

“He is a proud man—it is another one of his failings—so he left me to say it,” the dark captain answered. “Come, let us see you to your cell,” he said as he put his arm around Baet’s shoulder. “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 him any good. Perhaps—perhaps he will see reason.”

With that, the captain returned the junior guard to his cell as the Jindleyaks followed.

Carringten turned and stared through the bars once more. “It was a privilege serving with you,” he said with a smile. He gave a bow. “Honor, fidelity, courage,” he said with a salute.

“Honor, fidelity, courage,” Baet repeated—though he left off the salute, since he was no longer under obligation to do so.

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, then the naga muttered something in Trohl that sounded insulting.

“Oh what is it with you?!’ Baet yelled at Maligno. “You seem to be forgotten altogether!” he snapped. “Yet I shall only be in here for one more day!”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 19.7 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

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," and with that he held out his hand.

Curious to know what his captain held, Creigal extended his palm and took what was offered. It was a pin of a kite, with a laurel about it’s head, arrows in one claw, and a cluster of grapes in the other. It was Carringten’s badge of office, that marked him as captain of the duke’s personal guard.

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 left to command. There is only me. All the others are gone," he replied.

“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 me and Baetolamew left to protect you, I could not even 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.”

“I cannot command them if they are not here,” Carringten pointed. “Although 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. A duke is not so unapproachable to them. They know you. They come to you personally,” he noted. “Yes, I may be the closest, but I am only another guard; and I will not pretend that 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 that he commanded?” Carringten shook his head. “No—I remain your guard, from now until the day I die—but I cannot command. Not anymore. No one in their right mind would follow,” he said.

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