Mixed Company

Polished — 55m59s — 2023/12/07

“Mistress, there’re strangers on the road,” the guard warned.

The sun peeked over the mountains. The parade of paupers was bedding down for a much needed rest after a long night of travel. With a nod, Wenifas opened her eyes and slowly stood. Ignoring her fatigue, she stepped out to the road, turned, and stared west. The guard and Claiten accompanied her to the road.

Smoke drifted on the wind as a horse and rider stepped down the road with four figures behind it. The horse passed among the commoners. Those that were still up waved and bowed to the rider. Wenifas bit her lip. “Who are they?” she asked.

“The way they pass, must be someone important,” the guard shrugged.

Wenifas ran a hand through Claiten’s hair. “Go to your sister,” she said to the boy. Annoyed, Claiten returned back to the pine where Evereste rested with Meu and the dirt covered Trohl they found cavorting in a bed of flowers the night before.

The knot of strangers approached. The rider turned to the guard and said, “I am looking for the one that leads this rabble.”

Wenifas recognized the rider immediately. It was Meriona, the Jay. She blanched as the guard turned to her. Although a smile stretched across the Jay’s face, her eyes suggested she was not at all pleased to be referred to a simple priestess.

“You have saved a great many of my people,” Meriona gestured at the long train of commoners. “For that, I thank you.”

Wenifas gave a low bow, “You are welcome, mistress.”

“I am told you command these men? Have you taken an oath to the armies of the Empress?” Meriona asked.

“The men follow my lead as they were ordered,” Wenifas replied. “It is not a thing of my doing.”

“And who gave such an order?”

“It was the copal, Ayrik,” Wenifas answered.

Meriona turned and gave a puzzled look to the guard.

“It is a lawful order,” the man nodded. “Under special circumstance, members of the clergy and civility are known to lead troops,” the guard answered. As he said civility, he gave a nod to Meriona, in recognition of her own position. Yet, he made it clear that at this time he took his orders from the clergy, even such a minor member as Wenifas.

Meriona turned to the priestess and assumed an authoritative pose. “You have done a good job, though you are not trained in these matters. I ask that you immediately turn these men over to me.”

Wenifas looked about the various people as they relaxed along the road. Despite the large number of people around her—including over thirty armed and dangerous guards—Wenifas felt very much alone. Her one desire was to leave them all and be truly and utterly alone, that she might have a chance to grieve for Derris. This was the thing she cared to do, to cry and bluster and mourn!

Yet, she had her children to consider, and she did not trust the Jay with their safety. She thought it best that she retained command, as she figured Meriona would take the guards and make for Ebertin with all possible haste. Then, her children would be left with nothing but the rabble to protect them. Wenifas wanted to tell Meriona to take her own guards and go ahead all the same. They’d have the long train of paupers and soldiers to serve as their vanguard. Why demand the other capable men? Then, as she thought of the Jay’s guards, Wenifas glanced at Meriona’s entourage. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She knew these men. Their faces were etched on her soul as she remembered them killing Derris. Anger rose from the pit of her stomach. For a split second, Wenifas thought to say something about them, to attack them with nails and teeth.

Yet the priestess was rather good at denying her first impulse, and although she recognized them, these men did not seem to recognize her. But then, they must possess cold hearts. For them to have a cold dead stare was no stretch. They were murderers, after all.

Well?” Meriona pressed for an answer.

“I’m sorry,” Wenifas said, her head bowed deep as she pointed at the guard that stood next to her. “These men have not fulfilled their current orders. I cannot release them.”

Meriona stared daggers at the priestess. “And what orders are these?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“We are ordered to see these people to safety,” the guard volunteered.

“We are away from the camp. There are no waokie here to harm them,” Meriona pressed. “If these people are not safe, when might they be?”

For a moment Wenifas thought to say that these people would never be safe so long as the corruption and hypocrisy of the Baradha ruled! But she kept a calm face and simply replied, “They will be safe among the Trohls, when we have reached a settlement of significant size.”

“Then, you will turn these men to my command?” Meriona pressed.

This time Wenifas didn’t flinch. A cold rage caught hold of the priestess. She locked eyes with Meriona and simply said, “We shall see,” in a flat tone.

A bothered air came over the Jay though she calmed herself quickly. She sighed and offered a long suffering smile. “Then I ask that we be permitted to join your caravan, that we might be safe among your numbers.”

Wenifas realized the Jay didn’t trust her own guards. She felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, then answered with a gracious bow. “You have a right to the road. It is your prerogative to keep any company you like,” she said with no hint of irony.

“Then it is settled, we will join you,” Meriona grinned. “When might we proceed?”

“It has been a long night. We marched until the sun came up. We shall return to our travels soon,” Wenifas said.

“Then we shall find a place to rest until it is time to go,” Meriona replied, then turned from the priestess. With her guard in tow, she passed out of earshot.

Wenifas turned to her own guard. “Does it surprise you that she wishes to tarry with us instead of riding ahead?”

His curiosity piqued, the guard turned to her. “What are you insinuating?”

“The men with her—I do not trust them—and I suspect Meriona does not trust them either,” she answered.

The guard stared after the three strangers. “We shall keep an eye on them.”

“Thank you,” Wenifas gave a nod, then stepped away. She returned to the pine and nestled her nose in Claiten’s hair. There were still a few hours before they continued, and she longed for a deep dreamless sleep.

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

As the camp rested, Baet walked among the brush and scrub at the side of the road.

“Where are you going?” Toar asked.

“I feel a return of the drips,” Baet replied with a sniff. “I’m lookin’ for your weed so I might make some tea.”

“Do you remember it? Shall I help you look?”

“Do as you like,” Baet shrugged.

“Do you think that’s her?” Toar asked, as he joined his friend.

“Who?”

“The woman in command. Do you think she’s the one with your musket?”

Baet turned back to Toar. “She’s a priestess, right? Twin gods and what not?”

“She’s not a Jay. They don’t bow and scrape to each other.”

“That’s good, right? That she’s not a Jay?”

“I don’t know,” Toar frowned.

Baet sniffed. “Well, it’s nice to know Cloud Breaker might be close. Do you think one of these fools might have Thunder Maker?”

Toar shrugged.

“Well, somebody has it,” Baet frowned. “Where do we go next? What do you know of this Ebertin?”

“It’s a shit city. I’d rather chance it out here with the bugbear,” Toar answered, then turned back to the subject of the musket. “Do you think she’s figured out how to reload it?”

“What are the chances any of them have shot and powder?” Baet shook his head. “Other people aren’t so interested in muskets—they don’t trust ‘em.”

“Why’s that?” Toar asked.

“There were issues, when muskets first came out,” Baet stated. “Some were made cheaply. Some were intentionally sabotaged. Either way, several defective muskets ended up in prominent hands. People died in terrible accidents. After that, the public wasn’t so impressed. Loud? Dangerous? Yes. But there’s only one shot before a long reload process, and you just might kill yourself using it? Why bother?! Why not just use a bow?!”

“You still use one,” Toar noted.

“In Gaurring the musket thrives,” Baet smiled. “In Guarring, the technology only improves.”

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

When noon approached, the long train of survivors slowly broke camp and began their ponderous march along the road. Celesi made a point of walking with Toar as the train stumbled west. She had not encountered so many commoners among the Ministrian and so she used him as a shield from their strangeness. Some approached her in a groveling manner, and she was not comfortable with it. Foremost, she had nothing to give them, and most left her looking resentful and put out that she would not even give them bits of copper. Did they not know that she was little more than a slave? Pampered and privileged, yes, but given little of her own. She did not like these people. She was much more comfortable with Toar, the only other Trohl among the whole lot.

And he was handsome too.

Not only was Toar amicable to Celesi’s company, but Meriona asked her apprentice to keep a close eye on him, that she might have another eye on their three strange guards. Celesi didn’t care about the senior Jay’s encouragement—but she was glad to have it!

As they traveled, Meriona left Celesi to the company of the Trohl—and the Saot with the wandering eye—as the senior Jay seemed to prefer the company of the midnight man. Celesi turned and looked back at the two of them. He was obviously the leader of the three, though the markings of their uniform claimed they were equals, all nobodies among the common troop. Yet, they seemed anything but common. They certainly had nothing to say to the guards of the priestess.

Meriona stared at her. Celesi waved, then turned and frowned at the ground, until she could think of something new to say to Toar.

“Our Trohl friends seem rather chummy, don’t you think?” Meriona said to Carringten as she lifted a brow. “Perhaps a bit too much?”

“Does their proximity concern you?” The Borz replied.

“Your master knew the significance of her condition. His appraisal was a sol for her blooding,” Meriona looked at Carringten with a critical eye, and hoped he wasn’t so daft not to know what she meant. It could be so taxing talking to those beneath her. “Your associate is rather friendly for my liking. If anything should transpire between the two, I may be forced to hold you accountable.”

“Threats, m’lady? To what end?”

Meriona leaned down. “A gold sol is the cost of such things,” she repeated.

“It is not our custom to pay for that which is freely given,” Carringten replied, unperturbed.

“I remind you, this is a matter of interest to the Throne,” Meriona chastised.

“The Throne has so very many interests,” Carringten noted. “How does she keep track of them all?”

“With the assistance of her servants, of course,” Meriona gave a slight bow. “When in Minist, do as the Ministrians do. Have you not heard this?”

“Everyone has heard it,” Carringten nodded. “Ministrians make a habit of saying it so very frequently. Yet, they often say it lands not their own.”

“Look around you,” Meriona replied. “What makes you think we are not in Minist?”

“I admit that I see myself among Ministrians, mostly their lowest, these defeated plebs,” Carringten began. “Yet, I’d be curious to hear how the Trohls might argue such an assertion.”

Meriona was about to fire back, when Carringten held up a hand, and switched directions.

“I will talk to him all the same,” the captain said. “To keep the peace.”

She huffed her victory. “Stern words, I hope.”

“The sternest,” he replied in a flat tone.

“That is all I ask,” Meriona said with a honeyed smile.

For several seconds, neither spoke. Carringten eyed the Jay. he thought it funny that although there were several hundred of her people about, Meriona sought him out and walked her horse nearby. He did not mind it, though he wondered why she did this. He assumed she was uneasy among the commoners. Perhaps she felt it better to walk with a man that she might openly antagonize instead of with people she pretended to serve.

After a short time, Meriona turned to Carringten again. “I should hope you did not kill for that uniform,” she baited the captain.

“I got this uniform from a rack of such uniforms,” Carringten answered, though he remembered the dead soldier they fought just outside the prison. He certainly didn’t want to bring that up with this Jay, and decided his best course of action was simply to change the subject. “How is this war with the Trohl?” he replied. “Why do you implicate the Saot?”

Meriona shrugged. “What way do you think it is?”

“I think Kezodel holds the militias in Ebertin, while he assists you in the enslavement of his own people, and I think he does it at a great profit. I think my king knows full well that you implicate one of his duchies in this affront, and I wonder if Kezodel, the King, and the Black Throne all have designs on Gaurring,” Carringten replied.

“I am not privy to what our military does, but I can tell you where we take all these civilians,” Meriona said. “With the waokie in the north and the west, we settle our people in the south, near Rynth Falls. Soon, the area with be dotted with Ministrian settlements, and as they become established, we will take the empty space between Wibbeley and Rynth Falls for our own.”

“I hear Ebertin is a large city,” Carringten noted. Is it the usual campaign of fear and doubt that keeps the local militias in check?”

“That and coin,” Meriona shrugged. “At this point, the city is all but ours, and so our methods are direct,” she noted. “In the beginning, it is always disinformation, distraction, and subversion.”

“And beyond Ebertin?”

“Beyond Ebertin is the Pulbouge, and they are no good,” Meriona scrunched her face. “They do not like us and refuse our trade. It would be much better for us if they were on this side of Ebertin, so we might clear them out too. As it stands, we must take the city first. Then we shall deal with the Pulbouge more directly.”

“How long before we reach Ebertin?”

“Among this squalid mass? Eight or nine days. But we are almost to Falderfallen’s Hovey, and then I think we can be rid of the rabble. Once there, we can get horses for you and your men. Then we shall move much quicker,” she answered.

“And my master? Where is he?” Carringten asked.

“A day or two ahead us,” Meriona shrugged.

“You say the execution will be quick. I should like to get there with a bit more haste,” Carringten stated.

Meriona shook her head. “In the lives of governments, a day or a week is a blink of an eye. Your master is an important man. A trial is necessary. It will be several days before Kezodel and Gliedian have scripted their interactions before the court. After that, there will be a time to petition against the decision of the court—not out of any true concern for the accused, of course—merely to maintain an illusion of impartiality. I promise that we will arrive in time—even as we limp along in this train of miscreants. We shall arrive before your master ever sees court. Besides, why do you wish to be there? They will know you as one of his lieutenants. What will you do? Will you fight Kezodel and all his men? If you try, it will be a quick and nasty death for you.”

“I will do what I must,” Carringten replied. “Do you think your argument will be without weight?”

“I think there is a reason our military implicates your duchy in the conquering of these lands,” Meriona replied. “And why is that? What has your master done that my Empress and your King should plot against him?” she asked. “And now that we should find him in our hands, do you think the rescue of a simple Jay will see him released?” she shook her head. “I think this endeavor is pointless. But I also think you must be a good man to see it through, and I should hate to see you destroyed along side your duke, so I will argue for you to be one of my new guard, if you should like such an honored position.”

“From insults to compliments,” Carringten eyed the Jay. “You do surprise me.”

“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” Meriona shrugged. She eyed the dark man to see if her words caused him any discomfort.

“True warriors do not beg for a quiet death,” Carringten replied. “Only a cause worth dying for.”

“And your master? He is such a cause?”

Carringten nodded.

Meriona frowned and shook her head. “There are no such causes. It is a grave mistake to value the life of some one else above your own.”

“And what of your Empress? Does she not demand your allegiance?”

“In her case, undying allegiance is the alternative to most immediate death. In Minist, there is no other bargain,” Meriona answered.

“Then it is a nation of slaves,” Carringten said.

Meriona smirked. “Half the world is in our thrall—yet all our slaves are not the same. You shall see the luxury and privilege I am afforded!”

“So you do not disagree?” Carringten asked.

“I do not,” Meriona admitted. “I’ve kissed the ring of Empress Seviticah—and I wonder if she has secretly kissed other rings herself. But I am not concerned with who stands at the tippy top of the world’s pyramid. I stand close enough. I see a great deal, and I am blessed in many ways.”

“But you would not die for your Empress?”

“Why should I want to die at all?” Meriona scowled. “Should I not want to live forever? But that is the great pain of our existence. Surely, it must be very few that manage immortality...”

“Few?” Carringten turned to Meriona with wide eyes. “You think there are those that manage it at all?”

“Certainly.”

“And who are these people? Where are they? Might we see them? Might we study with them?” Carringten asked.

“Of course you can! But time continues, and some are always skeptical! They say, ‘you are not dead yet, but that is not proof you will live forever!’ They do not see what some have accomplished,” Meriona replied.

“Indeed, I have met a few of the old masters of Minist,” Carringten noted. “Although some are very old indeed, none are immortal.”

“See? You are proving my point!” Meriona stated. “If they are not dead, how can you say they are not immortal?”

“Because even the greatest die. To live for three, four, even five hundred years is a far cry from living forever. How long did Hischeidah live? Six hundred years? Yet, he is dead. And is it true he took many of his secrets with him?”

“He may have taken a few tricks, but we shall discover them soon enough,” Meriona replied. “Besides, his six hundred years in not the record. Addivus is approaching eight hundred years.”

“And are they not both said to be chimera?”

Meriona shrugged. “That is always the rumor when one has lived for so long.”

Carringten shook his head. “Still, to be immortal is to watch the infinities pass as if they were nothing but this season’s flies…”

“The gods have promised it,” Meriona snapped. “But you do not know the true gods. We are the elect! We have the keys! We unlock the doors!”

“I may not know your gods,” Carringten agreed. “But I certainly know of them. For one, I know you speak not of Ooroiyuo and Naharahna.”

Meriona flinched.

“Yes, Jay. I know they are the gods of children. They are for the unwashed masses, a source of song and story to control the conquered peoples. The Baradha do not speak the names of their true gods. Not among the profane. Yet I know their names all the same,” Carringten continued. “Hef, Master of Waters; Gairfitz the Shimmering Light; Rauthmaug the All-Consuming... I know much of your secret gods and the dark powers they offer—but they are nothing compared to nature herself. Hers is the kingdom of heaven. Hers and hers alone. For all belongs to her, both heaven and hell. She offers eternal truth to any and every man. All they must do is open their eyes. You see, we all die, mistress! But first, we must live, and in our lives, we must serve. If we serve the dark, we will die only to be born into darkness once more. And so I serve the light, that at least my eyes are open.”

“And I suppose those that serve the light are immortal?” Meriona suggested.

“Not at all,” Carringten replied. “We are all immortal, light and dark alike—which is what makes their quest for immortality all the more tragic.”

Meriona glowered at the man.

“To live a life of meaning requires death,” Carringten continued. “In order to remember, you must forget.” He stared at the lady, curious to see if his words impacted her at all. “These are not contradictions, they are only paradox.”

“And what proof do you offer?” the Jay asked.

“Doubt says it is one. Faith says it is the other,” Carringten shrugged.

“Then you admit it, you do not know it all,” Meriona smirked.

“The aim is not to know it all. That is the mistake your people make. We only need know enough,” Carringten replied. “And that, my dear, is a simple thing, affordable to all.”

Meriona turned from the dark guard and his hopeful words. She looked about the others and silently judged them—as was her profession. With a snort, she pushed her horse forward and said, “I prefer my shoes, and the shoes of my horse, to any of these others.”

Carringten shook his head and hid a troublesome smile. He knew she’d return soon enough. Who else could she talk to?

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

That night, on the far side of Falderfallen’s Hovey, Creigal was given a posh room with two of Gliedian’s guards posted outside the only door, and two more outside the only window. He pulled the shades.

There were fifty four men riding with the Lord Commander and another twenty or so emissaries and civilians that traveled in their company. Creigal was the only prisoner among them, but his rank was known, and Gliedian was good to his word. Creigal was treated well. Indeed, all the people around him were very polite—so long as he did as he was told.

His immediate handlers, Karamina and Alise, were too polite. No matter if he rode on horse, wagon, or carriage, the girls were his immediate companions and interacted with him almost exclusively. Alise was coy with her company, always trying to trick information out of him. While Karamina—the one that sounded so very much like his daughter—was simply forward. He was bothered by the fact that she sounded so much like Daphne, especially since she was always taking passes. Too weird! he thought and shuddered.

The other one, the Saot girl, Alise, only pretended to know nothing of her homeland. Creigal was beginning to think she was the daughter of some family of wealth and title, and therefore steeped in politics. Her questions against him proved that she knew not only some of his own personal history, but history of his fathers and his people. Her commentary was often biting. Indeed, between the two it was the old salt and sugar routine, and it made for long days on the road.

Creigal wondered what sorts of tricks and interrogations he could expect from his enemies next. He wondered how long before they turned from the mind games and began with the physical abuses. Then, not wanting to think of his problems, Creigal turned his mind to his people. He wondered how they fared without their duke and imagined they were doing quite well. He’d set up his own succession years ago, after it was proved his sons had murdered his daughter. Indeed, most the people would not notice he was even missing. No matter what happens to me, he thought, my people will thrive for a thousand generations! With this thought in his head, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Late in the night, Creigal woke with a start. He wasn’t sure what he heard, but he was convinced someone else was in his room. He wondered if Gliedian had gone back on his word and turned him over to an assassin. Now I will die, he thought, an ignominious death, far from home.

At least he would not be tortured.

He noticed a shadow shift. Someone approached the foot of his bed, slowly and quietly. A pair of hands slid up the covers. Creigal tracked the shadow, and as the stranger crept close enough, he grabbed at the wrists and caught hold of the thin lanky frame.

“Let go!” Karamina hissed with his daughter’s voice. He checked her hands for a poisoned pin or a garrote. Finding her hands empty, he glared at her, then let her go, as she asked.

“What are doing?” Creigal hissed at the young Jay.

Karamina crawled onto the bed as Creigal’s eyes further adjusted to the dark. He realized she had just shrugged out of her nightgown and was wearing nothing underneath.

“You are in the wrong room,” he told her.

“And if I were?” Karamina whispered her defiance. “But I am in the right room,” she smiled. “Don’t you see? I am here for you, old man.” She advanced with a chuckle.

“Non, child. I do not want such sport,” he said, loud enough for the guards to hear, as he kept her at bay with his hands and feet.

“It is not for you to say,” Karamina replied in a whisper. She slowly pressed against him and tried to work through his defenses as he held her back. “If you defy me, I will scream and bring in the guards. It will be bad for you. I will say you forced yourself upon me, and they will be wrath. There is only one thing for you to do. You must submit,” she said as she pressed her tits against his hands.

Creigal put a foot in her stomach and pushed her back.

“I brought fio,” she said as she revealed a small pouch.

Creigal was not impressed.

“There’s no need to fight each other,” she frowned as she advanced once more. “Don’t you long for love?” She said as she tried to tangle herself past Creigal’s defensive hands. “I offer you the warmth of a woman, a chance to frolic before you die! And not just tonight! I shall return tomorrow, and the next night! I will be with you every night until your last—if you only ask! I’ll be with you until you part this sad life!” she offered. “And I am trained in the ways of sensuality. You will find me to be enthusiastic, even vigorous.”

“It cannot be,” Creigal replied and continued to push her back.

“You think of the Trohl, is that it?” Karamina admonished. “If I were blonde, you would bed me,” she leaned forward and tried to lick his face. She licked his arm instead. “I will make you forget her, you will see.”

“Stop teasing me,” he said and wondered if she might never leave him alone.

“Give me a royal child,” she whispered. “I will see that it gets a good upbringing. I will see to his comfort,” she cooed. She found an opening in his defenses and grabbed between his legs. She caught a handful of his heritage, gasped and thought, My! What a man!

With a huff, Creigal pushed her off. Not wanting to play at games any longer, he stood and wrestled Karamina into a pretty little knot in about three and a half heartbeats. He was a fair deal larger, and much better at the martial arts.

“Let go!” she huffed as she struggled to get out of his hands. She was not well trained at such things, and he knew how to fight. “Let me down!” She raised her voice—though she still hoped they might not be disturbed. Indeed, she liked him all the more for his forceful, yet gentle ways. He might have her pinned, but he did nothing to hurt her. God, he was strong! He’d overcome her with such little effort—and he had not even pinched her in the process! Sweet Naharahna, she wanted him! “You better let me down, or I’ll scream,” she hissed—yet hoped he might yet give her a real reason to scream. Oh, she hoped to scream and call his name all night long! The guards would not mind. They were paid to wait and listen—unless she screamed very specific things in a specific way. Only then would they intrude.

Creigal stepped off the bed, careful not to drop the young Jay. He carried her across the room and to the door.

“Let me down!” her voice banged up an octave as she struggled against his grasp.

Creigal thumped against the door. There was a long silence. He banged again, and was about to hit the door a third time when the door creaked open. Confused guards stared at Creigal as he cradled Karamina in all her unadorned glory.

“No more gifts,” Creigal said to the guards as he set the Jay on her feet. He spun her around and gave her a smart slap on the ass.

“Ow!” Involuntarily, Karamina took a step forward into the hall—one arm covered her chest as the other reached for her sore butt. She tucked her tail and the door slammed shut, and gave her another smart smack on the backside. With shock on her face, Karamina looked at the guards. They returned her dumbfounded stare.

The lot of them could hear Creigal as he stomped away into his room—and then they heard him stomp right back to the door. The door popped open and Creigal gave the girl her nightgown. He turned to the guards. “Well?!” he glared. “Look away boys! Let the lady get dressed!”

The guards turned. Karamina pulled her nightgown over her head, then scampered off to her own room thoroughly embarrassed.

Creigal slammed the door once more. He settled into the dark and wondered how Karamina could have so grossly misread his interest! Did she think she was the only woman to ever throw herself at him? And with such questionable motives! As if he was interested in bedding the enemy! With a huff, he returned to his bed and hoped that’d be an end to the night’s hi-jinx.

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

There were few blankets and almost no tents among the ragtag collection of Ministrians. The paupers huddled under the boughs of low hanging trees and siphoned heat from one another as the night stretched into the wee hours and grew most cold. Then, as the cold was near its peak, Wenifas roused the camp. Guards rekindled the fires so the paupers might warm themselves. Shortly after—almost before the paupers could get warm—the call went out and the column started east once more. Walking was the best way to keep warm, they said. Still, they were lucky. Summer nights in the mountains were not so bad.

The march continued until noon. The parade of paupers stopped and took another rest through the high heat of the day. As the sun began to wane once more, they’d wake, take a bit of a meal—if there was food to be found—and begin their slow march once more.

Wind kicked up from the west and brought with it the smoke from the wrecked forts. The reek was thick and at times it was not possible to see from one end of the caravan to the other. Occasionally, stragglers from the camp joined the caravan with fright in their eyes, blisters on their feet, and wild tales of their escape. Thankfully, there was no sign of any pursuing waokie.

The parade of paupers continued east, heads down and solemn—but not all of the refugees were bowed by the doom and gloom of the situation. The youngest survivors seemed least affected by their circumstance. For one, Claiten skipped down the line of marchers, no longer bothered by his near escape. He did not think to connect the smoke to the destruction of his home, or so many people that he knew about camp. His sister and mother were alive, as were several of his friends, most of whom also thought this was a fine adventure! On top of that, Wenifas marched at the head of the column with a new found respect that the other children extended to Claiten.

The guards were also in odd spirits and restless. There was no guarantee they were free of the waokie, and there was still the danger of what lay ahead. There was also a guilt about them, as they left so many of their brethren to fight and die. Many were quick to note they were under orders and those that tried to defy captain Ayrik were threatened with death. So it was that a majority of the guards vacillated between survivor’s guilt and the pleasure of a new day.

As Claiten ran down the line of refugees with several other children hot on his heels, one of the guard nudged another. “That’s her boy,” he said to his brother-in-arms.

“Who’s boy?”

“The priestess,” the guard answered. “You know. The priestess that rescued... this,” he waved at the various people.

“Yeah? Did you ever petition?”

“Non. I don’t think I ever saw her back at camp. Probably one of those that rarely leaves her tent. She’s a looker though, eh?”

“There are so many lookers among the priesthood. That’s why we like ‘em,” the other joked. “But this one... She is weepy. Did you not see her when she first approached the gate?”

The guard shrugged. “Rough night. Besides, women are meant to cry.”

His friend turned a critical eye. “You mean to ask her, don’t you? You got the coin for it?”

“Maybe,” the guard frowned as he rolled several bits in his hand. “I left most my monies in the barracks. Will you lend me?”

His friend rolled his eyes. “All this trouble and you can think of nothing but pollinating the next pretty flower! We’re a thousand miles from home! Do you not see the trouble we are in?!” Still, he dug a hand in his pocket and fished out several coins.

“Priorities,” the first guard smiled as his friend passed him a couple diems. “If I die, I shall die satisfied.”

“You are not allowed to die,” his friend replied. “You are on the line for two diems, and I mean to have them back.”

His friend winked as he whistled at Claiten. “Come here, boy!” the guard called.

Claiten turned to the heavily armed man. His eyes went wide and his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. The guards approved of such caution among the boys and smiled to see it. They thought it was good instinct.

“Come closer,” the guard ordered.

As Claiten approached, his friends kept a safe distance. All of them had suffered lashings from such men, and they also had no idea why their friend was summoned.

The guard leaned toward the boy with a smile. “I beg a favor,” he said and held out the diems. “Take these and give them to your mother. Ask if she will perform ritual, that my soul might be purged.”

Claiten gave a nod, snatched the coin, and ran up the line. He thought his mother would be pleased as he gave her the two diems and whispered the guard’s words.

“Men!” Wenifas bellowed to Meu and her mute Trohl friend. “We are lost in the wilds and they can think of nothing but their stiff little billies!”

Despite her friend’s consternation, Meu only shrugged, while the silent Trohl smirked.

Wenifas turned on her boy and gave him back the diems. “Take this back and tell him I am not performing! Tell him I am sick! Tell him I suffer a rash...” she said to her son. Claiten turned to go back to the guard, but Wenifas grabbed him by the shoulder before he was out of reach. “Non, I will talk to him,” she continued. “In fact, I will talk with all the guards.” She dug into her pack and took out a handful of coins from Fedring’s bag. “May I?” She asked the wyrm.

Meu shrugged once more. It was only coin and easily won. She did not care what happened to it.

Wenifas picked a handful of large silver lunes from the bag and gave them to Claiten to hold. Once the boy had his hands full of heavy silver coins, Wenifas proceeded to the head of the train, then turned and stood in the road. She smiled and nodded as the people passed and stopped each guard. She thanked them for their continued service to the Throne and gave each of them a lune. Several balked. “Priestess, I cannot take this! What monies will you use?”

Thanks to Meu, Wenifas had more money than she’d ever thought possible. Indeed, she felt guilty for having so much of it among so many of her destitute neighbors. “There is enough,” she told the guards. “Please take it. The gods demand it.”

“Why do you pay them?” Claiten asked as they waited for the next set of guards.

“Currency must flow, and if I give them money, it proves my command,” Wenifas told him. “Besides, we have so much of it, and these people suffer. But do not speak of it. Do not tell anyone of our wealth, or we will be in grave danger,” she said and stared at the boy.

With a nervous gulp, Claiten nodded. He pointed at the next approaching guard and whispered to his mother, “He’s the one.”

“Hullo, miss,” the guard blushed. “You did not have to stop for me,” he said with a bit of a flourish. “I would have found you at our next rest.”

“But I do have to stop,” Wenifas smiled. “And I apologize. I am unable to perform for you,” she said as she pressed his diems back into his hand.

The guard’s expression grew dark. “But why?”

“You ask for my service, that you might worship, and I am flattered by your most generous offer,” Wenifas smiled. “But I am burdened by the words of your captain. You see, I must command, and I cannot be under you as I am over you. Instead, give your tender thoughts to one of my talented sisters. Let her have your heart, and let me rule your sword instead,” she put her hands on his ears, pulled him forward, and kissed his forehead.

He blushed to receive such grace, then his jaw dropped as she pressed a silver lune into his hand.

“This is for your good service, my brother.” She turned to his friend and pressed a lune in his hand too. “And for you too.”

“What is this?” the friend asked.

“You protect us, and we must see to your needs that you will stay strong. Please. You must take it,” Wenifas told him. She turned and moved down the line of refugees before they could refuse.

“She is right, you know. You must let her alone.”

“Oh?” the first guard turned on his friend.

The friend nodded. “If not, you’ll have to fight the rest of us for her favor!” he stated, suddenly alight with his own infatuation.

“And now you want to sleep her too?!”

“Did you not hear her words? She is a poet,” he admired. He shook his head, took his two diems, and turned away from the retreating priestess. “Still, there are others. There must be one among this crowd that’s worth your metal—some quivering flower, thick with honey.”

“Some one or two,” the guard glanced about the marching crowd. He realized half a dozen pretty ladies despite the dirt and fatigue that made up their faces. His mouth creased into a smile as he closed his hand around the coin. “To see to our needs, that we will stay strong,” he repeated her words, and offered a sly smile to the next priestess he passed.

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

The tops of several buildings peered over the forest. After three days of walking, Falderfallen’s Hovey was finally in view. There was a nervous trepidation about the refugees. Now that they’d reached a Trohl settlement, would they be welcomed and succored? Or would the locals view them as invaders?

Meriona watched as Wenifas once again gave lunes to the soldiers. They smiled and thanked her—yet not a one thought to ask her where she got so much coin!

After the first time, Meriona wondered that the priestess should give away so much of her own monies. It must have taken years to save so much for one of such low station. Then, as she spied upon the priestess and her child, she discovered something rather fantastic! It was the boy that let it slip, as he dug in his pack. He pulled a purse from his bag—but not any old purse—one marked with the office of the Corpus Majoris! Somehow, this priestess and her progeny possessed the coin of Fedring’s office!

Meriona approached the priestess. “Congratulations,” she smiled. “You have succeeded in saving so very many of our people.”

Wenifas hid her hands in her pockets. “Thank you, m’lady,” she replied. “I did what I could.”

“You have done well, and I am impressed,” Meriona smiled. “Many would have abused such position. They would have taken advantage.”

“In what way?” Wenifas asked.

Meriona shrugged. “There are all sorts of things a devious person might do—but I’m sure you saw opportunity. You are far more clever than you let on,” she smiled.

“You continue to compliment me,” Wenifas bowed.

“It is deserved. Yet, I feel you have entered new depths,” Meriona paused.

“In what way?” Wenifas asked. She was reticent, and although it was subdued, the Jay noted her suspicion. Meriona did not mind. It only proved the priestess’s intelligence.

“We approach a settlement of strangers in our hour of need. How shall we proceed?” Meriona began. “But I do not mean to pressure you. Instead, I hope to be of service. Might I lead the people into town? I know Falderfallen’s Hovey, and I know a few of her notable men. I believe I can smooth over our arrival.”

Wenifas was shocked by the offer, though she tried to hide it, “You would do that?”

“They are my people too,” Meriona rebuffed her. “I must do what I can to see them safely established!”

“And once we are safe?” Wenifas asked.

“I continue to Ebertin. There are matters I must attend,” Meriona said. “When I leave, I ask that you come with me. I would see you commended for the part you have played.”

“Do you take your guard?” Wenifas asked.

“The foreigners? Yes. I have promised to see them to the capital, and I will keep my word,” Meriona answered. She leaned forward and continued in a whisper. “Is there reason I should not bring them?” She asked as she wondered why the priestess seemed suspicious.

“I do not like them,” Wenifas confessed.

Meriona cocked her head. “Oh?” she said, surprised by this revelation.

The priestess’s eyes went wide and shot from side to side. “They are not guards at all!” Wenifas confessed. “They are criminals, escaped from the prison! The night of the attack, I witnessed them murder a man!”

“You saw this?!” Meriona feigned shock.

“I did!” Wenifas asserted. “He was a guard, good and loyal! The very best of men!”

“Then you must come with me!” Meriona charged. “I take them to court—for another matter altogether—but once we are there you can witness against them!”

“Will we see them hanged?” Wenifas asked, her eyes alight.

“Yes, my darling. We will see justice rule,” Meriona beamed.

“Then I must attend,” Wenifas replied and offered a hopeful smile to the Jay. “Please,” she continued. “Lead us into town.”

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