Excergie

Polished — 25m43s — 2023/12/26

Banifourd focused on the little things before him: the ripple of water in a barrel, the color of the dust that gathered on his boots, the whistle of a bird…

… and all this interrupted by the occasional screams of the village people—as their homes burned…

These are not the right people, he thought as he glanced about the mayhem…

Banifourd was beginning to lose count of the villages and farmsteads they’d sacked and torched. He’d speared at least a dozen unarmed men—and about half as many ladies in twice as many ways—but that was early, when they were still heading south. Indeed, he thought once they were on the plains, they might proceed quickly to Gaur land—but they’d already circled back twice in their quest to kill and destroy these other people, these Noethrin. He had to wonder if they were allied to the simpleton supreme: Duke Creigal berDuvante…

…or were they no enemies at all, just conveniently located?

He did not care for slaughtering kingdom people on the orders of these foreigners—but he knew his station, so when Gleidian gave the Small Hour Answer—words taught to Banifourd by Aerindoun himself—he immediately attended the Lord Commander’s needs.

But the respect only went one way. Banifourd was mostly left out of Gleidian’s grand design as to how the army would proceed. He had been given a brief and sweeping overview that left out a great many details—which were often sprung upon the Gaur squire at a moment’s notice.

Native men laid in the dirt, dead or dying. Their horses, weapons, and children were stolen. Their women defiled. This wasn’t the war he wanted, yet Banifourd offered no complaint. Still, he wasn’t supposed to be murdering women and children on the plains of the Noeth. He was supposed to be helping his cousins wrestle Gaurring out of their senile father’s hands. Who was Duke Creigal berDuvante to defy King Gred duReb—especially since everyone knew that the King had Empress Seveticah in his pocket, and her armies at his bidding—so he knew better than to argue. Instead, he dunked a rag in a barrel of rainwater and wiped away the filth and blood of yet another sacking, as he held a bottle of Noethrin Sour in his off hand.

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

Leave it to the Ministrians to ruin a good drink, Banifourd thought as he took a heavy gulp. “Try some, you might like it,” he replied, and wiped wine from his lips. He knew the man would refuse. Ministrians rarely drank, or smoked, or did much of anything fun without a priestess around to administer to them. It was against their carping gods.

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

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

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

“How many?” Petaerus asked.

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

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

“Sssouth, sir?” The scout stammered.

“Not you, friend. You will go to Solveny and tell Gliedian what has happened here,” Petaerus stated. “The rest of us go to Gaurring, where we will borrow some of Gaurring’s more daring souls, and then we will catch the Count’s army in a pincer!” He smiled as he noted the look of astonishment on Banifourd's face. “What is it, sir? You look as if you've seen a ghost?”

“Why are we fighting here?!” Banifourd asked. “Why would good Gaurs come north when the fight is in Gaurring!"

“We have enemies in the Noeth that must be purged. Only then shall we go south,” Petaerus said. “Not that you shall see it,” he sneered.

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

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

“He ain't dead,” Dolif hoped as he leaned close to the prone Gaur. “See? He breathes.”

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

“Take it all,” his friend suggested.

Petaerus shook his head. “A man with no purse is suspicious indeed.” He turned to the unconscious form of Banifourd. “I shall not say it was a pleasure to know you. Despite your high opinion of yourself, I find you inept and slow to learn. I only hope you can manage one last part we have designed for you,” he grinned. “It should be easy enough, as you only need to play at being witless.” He opened a small container and smudged a finger of a thick dark lotion around Banifourd's lips. He rimmed the man's nose with the cream, then wiped his hand in the dirt to remove any excess.

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

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

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

“Voressa sold it to me,” Petaerus shrugged. “Where else would you get something like that?’

Dolif frowned at his long-time friend. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Petaerus passed him the bottle.

Dolif stared at it. “You ever use it on any ladies?”

Petaerus shrugged. “I prefer the struggle.”

“So why use it on him?” Dolif pointed.

“His captors will think he was hit too hard and his brains are rattled. Then they must trust his documents,” the copal said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a year of being mostly alone, Paye was beginning to miss people. It’d been nearly a month since she had any visitors at the house in Excergie. It’d been since her cousin, Scurra, stopped by on her way out west, on a mission to find her brother.

Paye had made a few introductions in town. She simply never had anyone over, as she preferred her own company. After all, she needed to be alone; time for quiet contemplations, for pondering, and praying. Yet, after such a long time alone, Paye hungered for interaction and thought if she did not have social engagement soon, she might forget how to talk to people altogether. As the days crept on, she considered what she might do to alleviate her boredom—yet stuck to her solitary routine. She only ever considered the possibilities. She dreamed about throwing a party, or simply go to dinner at one of the beautiful inns about town. She fancied seeking out a society of painters, thinkers, or knitters. She wondered if she should have a few friendly faces over for a bit of tea one of these bright afternoons—or perhaps a few neighbors for a cozy dinner and gossip?

Buried under so many grand options, Paye managed to implement none of them—and then her cousin returned from her excursion in Bouge lands, with maybe a dozen others in tow. She saw them well before they reached the house, as they clattered up the drive with a dozen horses and a rickety wagon.

Paye rushed outside and gathered a weary and subdued Scurra in her arms. She looked among her cousin’s company. Several were strangers of foreign origin that brought a number of questions to the lady’s mind, but many were friends or family she knew by sight or reputation.

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

With a nod, Paye continued to study the others as she left for town. Who were these foreigners that rode with her cousins? They were Saots by their dress. One of them was dark as night, but still dressed in the fashion of a Saot. She wondered if they were the reason to bring the peacekeepers—but that seemed unlikely, since they were all armed and smiled politely. Then she saw the three Ministrians, with their sour scowls and tied hands. She knew they were trouble as they glared and leered at her.

Paye stepped down the drive and waved to Aim and Duboha, both of which she knew more by reputation than anything else. Duboha rarely came east, and Aim hadn’t been home in almost a decade. She glanced at Homoth, whom she hadn’t seen in over a year, and wondered if he had forgiven her. She wasn’t sure if he frowned at her or if perhaps the frown was simply due to their circumstances. She forgot it when she saw Elpis smile—with one eye beaming at the trees. She was shocked by his pale and sunken appearance. She had thought he was so handsome before he left home.

Town wasn’t far, not even half a mile away. Paye wandered about a knot of apothecaries that were all crowded near to each other and looked among the men for her distant cousin. She glanced straight at him and took a step in the other direction before she realized the old scarred fellow wasn’t nearly as old as he looked. “Krumpus?!” she gaped. “Are you okay…?!” she whispered, and hoped the question wasn’t deemed to be rude.

With a gasp and a bright smile, the shaman gathered his young cousin in a hug, then he held her at arm’s length. Just a little warn by my travels! he beamed, and she was amazed he could say this with just his eyes! Nothing a warm bath and hot, home-cooked meal won’t cure! He insisted, though he looked like he could pass out at any second.

It took over two hours for Paye to return to the house with Krumpus; as they dragged along several other physicians, a couple midwives, and half a dozen armed men from different local militias. When they arrived at the house, the peacekeepers went with Duboha and the Saots to hear charges against Meriona, Naiphan, and Bruck; then took them to the jail—while Paye and the others went inside, so they might check on the injured. Krumpus trudged behind the other healers. He hoped to help—until Giscelda, the senior among them, insisted he take his own rest. She would handle it from here, thank you.

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

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

Komotz, the worst of them, needed a good deal of work and another heavy dose of numb root; while the physicians and midwives ascertained the great extent of his injuries. The others all marveled that he was somehow still alive, as they checked the shaman’s triage. Several bones were jostled by the hard road and needed to be reset. The healers concocted a curative potion for the man to drink twice a day. Then, as they administered it, the numb root caused the young man to purge, which seemed incredibly painful. A few hours later, he purged again, and Giscelda insisted they change him from numb root to a different medicine.

But first, he would have to work the numb root out of his system.

Komotz kept a number of the house awake with his moaning and crying, but the healers were all agreed that he had to have the numb root well out of his body before they administered oblivia. The mixing of the two could be extremely dangerous. Komotz soiled another set of bedding and bandages, as the numb root worked its way out in fits and starts. It was a rough night, not only for the suffering younger brother, but the small troop of men and women that looked after him under the strict eye of Giscelda.

On toward morning, Paye helped strip the bed, then carried the stained sheets of her younger brother through the hall. As she walked, she heard a voice coming from another room. She peeked in to see the Saot guard sitting on the edge of Toar’s bed, talking to the injured youth, though the young Trohl slept.

“That'll be the way of it,” he said in his native tongue. “It'll be a fine day at the ocean—if you’re game to come…” The guard cut off his commentary and turned, as he sensed they were no longer alone. His rude gaze was direct and unwavering as he stared at Paye, though it softened as it settled on the easy features of the young Jindleyak lady.

She clutched the soiled sheets all the more tightly as she stepped into the room. “To see the ocean would be a fine day indeed,” she smiled at the handsome man.

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

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

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

Paye shook her head. “Not these ones,” she agreed. “They were more interested in going west rather than south, so they took up Ministrian—or pretended to. Speaking of my relatives, why are they not awake?”

”Aim, Duboha, and Homoth went out into the forest—to hunt, they said—though I imagine they were just going to make camp at a distance, so they wouldn’t have to hear the screaming,” Baet shrugged.

“You don’t mind the whining?” Paye asked.

The guard shrugged. “A little crying never bothered a real man.”

“And you would rather be here for the crying than go out and hunt?” Paye teased.

The Saot shrugged. “Perhaps if I hunted game…” he muttered as if he couldn’t care, though he had a strange glint in his eye.

“What do you hunt?” Paye asked, intrigued.

“Men mostly,” Baet replied. “"From time to time it’s women, and once it was a child,” he stared, with no mirth whatsoever.

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

He shrugged. “That’s all in the past, I think. My hunting days are all but done.”

“And now you are a nursemaid?” Paye teased, so she might fend off her uneasiness, and also mask it. She’d never known a man to brag about killing women. Or children. She certainly didn’t want to like him.

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

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

“Mostly the duke, though tonight I have another charge. Would you like to see?”

Paye flinched. The man wore a troublesome smirk. She’d be daft not to recognize the danger. Still, she was curious what he might have to show. “Okay,” she agreed and wondered if this was against her better judgement.

He smiled as he stood. “I don't think we've been properly introduced,” he said and stretched out a hand. “I'm Baetolamew. But please, call me Baet.”

“Paye. Paye Trandhill,” she smiled as she pushed the sheets into his outstretched hand. “Bring these down to the wash, and then you can show me what it is that you guard.”

Baet followed the woman out back and dropped the sheets in a tub of soapy water. “Shall we allow that mess to soak?”

“Will this take long?” Paye replied.

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

At least she thought it was a joke. Either way, it wasn’t funny. Arms akimbo, Paye stared. “Tell me, sir. What is it that you guard?”

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

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

Baet put a hand on his heart and pretended to be offended. “I am a guard,” he stated. “Simply ask and I will defend your honor, your virtue, your very self; on pain of my own death!”

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

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

Paye frowned as the man led her back into the house, turned her down a thin flight of stairs, then stepped into the cellar and triggered a secret catch that opened an obscured door. The wall twisted and revealed a passage. “How do you know of this place?” she asked.

“Your cousins knew of it. They showed me when we put the prisoner down here,” Baet explained.

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

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

Reluctantly, Paye followed. She knew what was down here: several cells for any prisoners they might have to keep. After all, her family was powerful and had many enemies, which isn’t to say that she’d ever seen the cells in use. Still, there were stories—half as old as her people… she peeked around the corner. For a long second she saw nothing. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she noted movement as a prisoner shifted his weight. She gasped as a large beast glared at her through the bars. “Is that…?!” she began.

“A naga,” Baet nodded.

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

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

“Now! Why such invective?” she asked.

Baet stared at the lady, “Him and his ilk killed a boy, a lively and courageous youth.”

“But you admitted to killing children,” Paye replied, curious to see how he’d react—and hoping she didn’t push too far. How would he reply? Might he become violent?

“I killed one, against my better judgement, and I have been haunted for it,” Baet answered. “Just as I will haunt this monster,” he said, and kicked the bars of the cage again. “You hear that?! You dirty baby-killer!”

On the other side of the bars, Maligno sneered and kept his distance.

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

The next morning, Scurra wanted to get out of the house, so she gathered the other ladies and took them into town. They returned with their arms full of food and needed supplies from the local markets.

As they came back, Elpis approached from the house. “How did it go?” he asked in Ministrian, since it was the only language they all spoke.

“We talked to the peacekeepers first,” Scurra nodded. “The trial is set for tomorrow.”

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

“The peacekeepers want it said and done,” Scurra stated. “None of the militias are interested in foreigners taking up so much jail space, not to mention the locals are peppering them with questions.”

“Must not be much drama of late,” Elpis noted.

“Well, they’ll get all the sordid details tomorrow,” Scurra replied.

“Not all the sorted details,” Elpis began. “Duboha and the Duke feel it’s best if we leave his highness out of it.”

“Tomorrow?!” Wenifas wondered that the trial would commence so immediately. “Will we be ready by then?” she asked, curious that the Jindleyak legal process could be so quick. Ministrian concerns could run for months.

“How long does it take to prepare the truth?” Elpis shrugged. “If you’d like, you can go last; once you’ve seen how the rest of us have been handled—or maybe we can leave you out too.”

Wenifas considered it. “No,” she finally said. “I’ve been quiet most my life.”

Elpis gave a nod then turned to his cousin. “Did you post the letters I gave you?”

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

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

“What’s back in Ebertin anyway?” Celesi asked, as she was looking forward, and not wanting to consider what lay behind.

Wenifas sucked her teeth and shouldered the young lady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that he was feeling better, now that he was quite sure that he would live, Maligno wanted to ask what they meant to do with him—but since the dark man couldn’t speak the Trohl language, and since most of the others were quite disagreeable—he set the question aside, content to keep his own council. Slowly, he began to inspect the security of his settings, and wondered where he’d find the nearest water once he managed to get out.

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