Shifting Allegiance

Polished 17.5 and gave a brief mention of Azra — 26m59s — 2023/10/22

Polished 17.1 through 17.5 — 48m40s — 2023/12/27

Polished 17.6 — 10m11s — 2023/12/28

Scurra skipped up the steps, strangely energetic and unusually chipper. Her usual mood was dour, but there were good reasons to be rather pleased with herself. She had several good nights sleep all in a row—in part because of her brother—and she’d recovered quite well from the strains of the fight with the naga and the leviathan. She hadn’t suffered much anyway—some light bruising and scrapes from crashing through the tree after the leviathan plucked it out from underneath her—but somehow she managed to stick the landing, barely bruising the one foot! On top of that, the trial with the Jay had gone as well as could be expected, so there was now an entire city between her and those hateful Jaded Blades, which was quite a comforting thought. And finally—although it cost them the lives of Saleos and Claiten—she’d been vindicated in her warning, and everyone was treating her with newfound appreciation. Still, it was unusual that she should be so demonstrably happy when she knew she was going to pick a fight with her brother—and she wasn’t even mad at him!

Scurrae found Krumpus right where she expected him, in front of the door to Komotz’s room. He slept in a large plush chair in the hall, blocking the way. As she approached, his eyes opened and Krumpus sat up to greet her.

Scurra stopped, put her hands on her hips, and turned immediately sour. “I want to see Komotz,” she demanded.

Krumpus stared at her for a long second, then gave a nod. With a yawn, he pulled himself out of his seat, then said, it’s Giscelda’s watch anyway, as he stepped down the hall, determined to find his own bed.

Well, that was much easier than she expected! Scurra pushed the chair aside, then slowly opened the door to Komotz’s room. The room was bright, and the windows were open to let in the crisp morning air. There was a chair between her and the bed. An old lady with spindly limbs, and tight curls craned her neck over her book. “He’s as peaceful as he’s ever been, don’t you dare bother him!” she whispered.

“I just want to see him,” she smiled.

“Oh,” Giscelda blinked. “If it isn’t the dreamer!” she smiled. “Come in—but you must be very quiet! This is the best sleep he’s had!”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Keep it low. You mustn’t disturb him much. He managed to put down some food, and he’s been out for hours! I’d prefer to give him several more!”

Scurra smiled. She turned to the bed and could see nothing but his face and head. For a long second, she could pretend Komotz was well on his way to recovery. There were several long scratches down his face—a softening pink that glistened with ointment—but then she also noticed his thin and sallow countenance, which heralded greater concerns. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

Standing next to her, Giscelda gave a nod, then proceeded to list off injuries along with what they were doing to heal the young man. On top of that, she listed all of the setbacks, and how they had adjusted their remedies of the last couple days.

Scurra was expecting some suffering—but as the list of complaints continued and twisted—she began to blanch. The way Giscelda told it, the boy was a patchwork of fractures, bandages, and bruises; barely able to eat, and finally getting some decent sleep—though he was still on an unsustainably high dose of oblivia.

Scurra could feel tears welling, so she reached out to stroke his hair in a gesture of sympathy. She flinched back as a sudden burst of pain erupted between two ribs. “Ow!” she complained with a hand to her side, as she backed away from Giscelda and her offending nail.

“Did you hear a word I just said to you?!” the spritely old woman glared up at the younger lady. “I just told you how vital it is that he not be disturbed, and gave you a laundry list of concerns—including lacerations on his scalp—and you think to disturb him?!”

Scurra shied away and shook her head. The tears appeared in her eyes. “I just need to touch him,” she begged.

With a sour face and a tsk, Giscelda beaconed Scurra to follow. She walked around the far side of the bed, then rolled back the blanket and revealed a bare shoulder. “It you must, this is one of the few bits of clear real estate on the poor boy.”

Scurra put her hand on his shoulder, then began to tell him about the trial. When she started getting into the nitty-gritty of what had happened, and how it made her feel, she noticed his pained and laborious breathing. Suddenly, the great victory over the Jay felt hollow and unimportant. Lamely, she closed her story only half told, covered her cousin’s good shoulder, and begged off, as if she suddenly remembered something pressing. She stepped from the room, then pulled the chair back into the middle of the hallway, so others would be less inclined to bother her cousin. She held her hands to her face and willed herself not to cry.

After a minute of such willful coaching, Scurra decided to go to the kitchen in hopes of finding something sweet; something to take her mind off the condition of Komotz, something to distract her from the sad state of the boy. That’s when Duboha found her.

“We have an issue,” he began. “The boy is beginning to stink,” he began. “Will you come and talk to the priestess with me?”

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

The other survivors attended, short only the brothers Komotz and Homoth. Homoth was in Hearthstone, while the younger brother would not be out of his bed for some time.

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

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

Claiten, Delonias, and Derris weren’t the only ones missing. None had heard word or whisper of Meu since she was swept away by the leviathan, disappearing into the dark clouds while wrapped about that wicked naga. Others had shared their concern and sincere hope that Meu was still out there—and Wenifas could see that the shaman and the duke both suffered from her absence—but who could say what had happened? Several had seen her swept away by the leviathan—but what had happened after that? Had she also perished?

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

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

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

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

Wenifas glanced around the others and realized that several were captivated by the child’s charms. Through her grief, she smiled at her new-found friends. She was more than happy to have the patient and caring shaman around, and was growing quite fond of both his people and their spicy food. They were as kind and generous as she could possibly hope.

And yet, they harbored the men that killed Derris. She didn’t mind the duke and the watchful dark man, but the native guide tended to glare, and the tea-drinker—well, the list of complaints against that man only seemed to grow! At least they planned to continue on. She wondered how long the duke and his men would stay with the Trohls and hoped that they would be on their way rather quickly.

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

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

Eventually the tears subsided. A comforting numbness settled upon Wenifas as she watched the bees dance about the field, unconcerned with the lady that watered their flowers. But the pastoral sublimity did not last. Someone approached. Realizing she was no longer alone, Wenifas looked up to see Baet standing a short way off. She glared, frustrated that he always seemed to present himself when she least wanted to see him—that is to say, she never wanted to see him! So why must he bother?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He had Krumpus,” Wenifas noted.

“The busted up shaman?” Baet disagreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baet turned back to the priestess. “He’s up and about. He sees the world through a shake of pepper—but he sees through both eyes, so…” he smirked.

Slowly, she gave a nod.

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

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

Baet shook his head. “He’s better one day and worse the next. Some want to wait for him, and some want to leave him here until he can make a fuller recovery. He’s lucid at times, and maybe an hour ago he begged to come with us. Krumpus thinks he overly agitates himself with the question. Giscelda and the others think its best if he goes and have agreed to come with us to continue his care.”

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

“I figured as much,” Baet nodded. “Toar admitted that he helped her load the GremSorter, but insisted he didn’t load Cloud Breaker.”

“Cloud Breaker,” Wenifas huffed as she stared at the musket. “So you are one of those to name your weapons?”

Baet shrugged. “They take on a life of their own.”

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

Baet nodded. “He weren’t no chicken.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Immediately, I realized my mistake,” she continued. “I cocked my arm back—and it was already to late. There was a maniacal grin on that beast’s thin lips as he slashed my boy from hip to chin,” she wiped her eye. “Instead of doing everything I might do, I balked. In that second, the gods cursed me, and forced me to watch as my child fell at the edge of the water. I saw the light leave his eyes—dead before he hit the sand.”

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

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

For a long second he simply stared at her, unwilling to move forward.

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

Slowly, Baet took the weapon, tucked in its holster, and reverently placed the belt around his waist. “well, maybe it’s done the last of it’s killing.”

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

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

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

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

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

Paye found the letter on her dresser as she prepared for bed. She read it, somewhat perplexed that Homoth would be so nice, even though he left without speaking to her. The note said it was difficult to talk, what with the injuries to Komotz and the other difficulties of their travels, and he hoped she wasn’t offended by his reticence. But the small matters of years gone by was not his reason for writing. Instead, he wanted her to send the ornament that hanged over the mantle back to Hearthstone with the others. Over the years, dinge and tarnish had collected on the massive, decorative crest. Homoth said the sight of it in such a state had made his heart heavy. He wanted to polish it, and since their grandfather had not seen it in such a long time, he wanted to present it to him clean and beautiful; after which he would return it to Excergie. Indeed, it was a strange request, but Paye was eager to make her estranged brother happy, so she stood in the main room and stared at the heavy decoration, made with precious metals and pricey gems.

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

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

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

Paye watched him go. There seemed to be more swagger than usual as he walked away. She noted the musket on his hip and wondered that she had not seen the peculiar Saot weapon before. He turned and glanced back as he got to the hall. A sly grin crept along his lips, and he gave her a wink.

Paye blushed and looked away—as she realized Baet was handsome devil indeed—then took the large metal crest and packed it among her clothes. It was time to go home. She only hoped the rest of her family would be as happy as Homoth to see her.

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

The next morning, as they all prepared to leave for Hearthstone, a true miracle occurred—though it made Aim jump out of his skin. A massive serpent with wings like an eagle swooped out of the trees and wrapped around the priestess before anyone could do anything to stop it! One second, Wenifas was scolding her child for rolling among the ashes of a firepit, and the next this beast had her wrapped all about!

Aim saw the spectacle unfold. He saw the giant beast swoop just over the trees, as it beelined at Wenifas, then wrap itself about the priestess, and almost tumble her to the earth!

Wailing and sobbing, the priestess struggled to right herself, as the serpent twisted all about her. Cursing and sputtering, Aim pulled a blade and rushed to intervene—but Andrus grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“What’s with the blade, cousin?” Andrus beamed.

“The…” he sputtered. “That!” he finished and pointed at the wyrm.

“Yes!” Andrus gave a nod and wry smile. “She returns!”

“Who returns?” Aim asked. “What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Andrus shrugged. “So much for situational awareness.”

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

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

“Just that she was strange,” Aim shrugged. The big man frowned. “Meu’s a skin-walker?!” he repeated, barely believing it. Yet, he could tell that the priestess was in no danger—as she hopped about, stroked the curious beast, and laughed so hard that she cried—as she always seemed to be doing. Besides, none of the others seemed in the least bit alarmed. “Am I the only one that didn’t know?!”

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

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

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

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

Everyone was excited by Meu’s return. Indeed, it was the big event of an uneventful day. After the initial heartfelt greetings, the company finished packing the wagons—including a tied up Maligno—and proceeded west without much to-do.

The Jindleyak decided it was best to take the duke and his men to the Trandhill Estate at the near edge of Hearthstone, instead of taking him to the City House, or the Yockupp Enclave, a few miles north of Hearthstone. Still, they had another day’s travel before they made it that far. Evening came. Camp was set.

As the others slept, Meu slipped from the priestess’ bed. She crept about, dodged the watch of Carringten, Aim, and Andrus, then lingered near the duke’s tent. She paused then scratched at the canvas.

She heard a body turn in it’s bed. “Who’s there?!” It was the harsh whisper of the duke.

Meu scratched the canvas again, then took a step back, on the off chance the duke should do something rash. She waited.

A few seconds later, the duke poked his head from the tent. There was a scowl on his face—until he saw her. “Oh,” he said. “Let me grab my pants.”

“Who’s there?” she heard Toar ask.

“It’s for me,” replied the duke.

Hand in hand, Creigal led Meu away from the camp. They found a jumble of large rocks and sat.

“I’m glad your back,” the duke nodded.

Demure, Meu feigned a blush, it’s good to be back. She licked her lips and kissed the duke, then allowed him to kiss her back, to kiss her several times and to hold her gently.

After being sweet to each other for a time, Creigal asked what had become of her after the battle.

After I got swept away? Meu smiled. Well, I thought I was dead. The beast had us tight and was crushing us, so I did the only thing I could think to do. I shifted to my stone form. Still, I knew I was doomed. Even in my stone form, that beast would crush me to dust as soon as I should be dropped into its mouth. But what else could I do?

When I flex into my stone form, my vision gets blurry, especially at the periphery—so I don’t know what Golifett did, but he managed to get the beast to let us loose—and so I was falling, she continued. As soon as I realized I was falling, I relaxed from my stone form, then it took me several seconds to correct myself and orient. Only then could I take stock of the evolving situation.

In one direction, I could just see the blue of the lake. To the other was the dark form of the sky kraken as it raced south and west—and between me and the kraken was Golifett. He descended slow and would come to little harm—a fact that angered me greatly, especially after what he did to Claiten.

“He fell slow?” Creigal asked. “How did he manage that?”

Dunno, Meu shrugged. There were long thin strands that stretched fifty, maybe a hundred feet up into the air. They twisted and glowed as they slowed his fall. He dropped softly among the trees, and when I approached, I found hundreds of these streamers draped about, dull and lifeless. How he managed to conjure them is beyond me.

“That’s a strange sort of wizardry,” Creigal frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything quite like that.”

Me neither, Meu agreed. But then, I’ve never had much exposure to naga.

“So what became of the beast?” Creigal asked.

Well, Meu began, a bit reticent. I found him limping through the woods, and I was still hot with anger, so I attacked—but he was prepared and quite wrath himself—the struggle didn’t go well for me. He lumped me on the head, then gave me this to remember him, Meu stood and lifted her dress so Creigal could see a long gash that ran across the back of each thigh, just under her butt. At that point, it was all I could do to get away, she shrugged. I flew high so he could not track me, then turned west to a rock outcropping, where I took to my stone-form again, and had a nap in the warm sun. I thought I should just sleep for a few hours, but I was so worn by my exertions that when I woke the stars were out and Oblarra hung high in the sky.

I didn’t find the ill-fated campsite until it was starting to get light. After that, I followed the road up into the mountains, then took another sleep during the heat of the day. I reached Excergie just after dark. I searched for several hours, then spent the coldest part of the night in my stone form, wrapped about a warm chimney.

“You did not see us during the trial?” Creigal asked.

I didn’t stick around, Meu noted. The next day, I decided I should follow the road east, since I knew you were bound for Hearthstone. I flew several hours, until I could see a big city that sits atop a mountain. Its a magnificent city, so I imagine it must be what these Trohls call Hearthstone. Still, I did not think you had made it that far, which is good, since I don’t think I could ever find you among such a crush of people. After seeing the city, I turned back around, and since it took me half the day to get there, it took me the rest of the day to get back. That night, I returned to the warm chimney that heated me the night before.

“You must have just missed the trial,” Creigal told her.

The next two days, I searched Excergie, and the surrounding farms. I was beginning to think I should never find you—but then I heard Wenifas scolding Evereste—and, well—you know the rest, she smiled.

“Well, I am glad you have found us, but I am bothered to hear that the naga still lives,” Creigal said. “Do you think he’ll continue to plague us?”

Meu shook her head. I could barely find you and I knew where to look.

“With luck, he’s gone back to Beletrain, and that shall be the last we ever see of him,” Creigal mused.

Enough of the naga, Meu said as she stared at the duke. Let us talk of what comes next.

“For you or for me?” Creigal asked.

For several seconds Meu simply stared at the duke. For both of us, she finally said. Come south with me. What are the chances you’ll find this thief anyway?

“If you would have asked me a week ago, I would have said it was inevitable,” Creigal confided. “But then, the dreams have stopped. My daughter no longer visits me in my sleep, and I wonder if she didn’t bring me all the way out here just so I might meet you.”

Do you really think so?

“Yes,” Creigal began—then shook his head. “And maybe not. The last dream I had, she asked me for the impossible, and I rebuffed her. Maybe that is why she does not visit anymore.”

What makes it impossible?

“She begs forgiveness. Not for herself, mind you. She begs it for her worthless brothers,” Creigal explained.

You will not forgive them? Meu asked.

“How can I?” Creigal shrugged. “They’ve been at war with me for decades.”

Perhaps these dreams do not mean what you think they mean, Meu replied.

“No, these dreams mean exactly what I believe they mean, or they mean nothing at all,” Creigal replied. “Sometimes dreams are just dreams—full of confusion and fear—but not these dreams. Indeed, when I thought to question them, Scurra spoke of her own nightmares—and I was so opposed to forgiving my sons that I ignored her,” he stared off into the night. “We might have avoided the sky kraken altogether if only I’d paid her proper attention. If only I’d admit to my own dreams.”

If we’d paid her proper attention, Meu corrected. There were many of us content with our plans.

Creigal shook his head. “When I was a prisoner to the Ministrians, I considered quitting this hunt. It was easy to consider anything, since my fate was sealed—but the second I was freed, I meant to continue,” he turned to her and stared.

Say that you cannot find this thief’s trail, Meu countered. How long shall you search?

“I shall search until it is hopeless, until the dreams let me go,” he answered with a wan smile.

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

“I was never going to be the one to defeat the King,” Creigal admitted. “That would take the entire people. If they are strong enough with me leading them, then I should think that they are strong enough with my nephew leading them. I am just one more man.”

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

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

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

“I do,” Creigal began. “I think he had a destination in mind before he ever robbed me. But then, maybe he is just running,” he shrugged. “I do not see him coming to Jindleyak lands, to live among such a kind and caring people, and I do not see him being foolish enough to go back home,” he said. “I quite suspect I will find him in Land’s End, among the Dunkels and their various attendants,” Creigal replied. “Why must you go south? Why don’t you come with me, wherever I go?”

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

“I remember your song,” Creigal nodded. “What if I promise to come south after I deal with this Humbert?” He asked, and as he said it, his heart caught. Suddenly, he wondered, could he have the best of both worlds?

If he was forced to choose, was he sure he wanted to choose the hunt? He hadn’t dreamed of his daughter in several days, and holding Meu infused him with a passion for a more peaceful life. He hadn’t felt anything like this since his wife. Perhaps his daughter really did bring him so far north just so he might meet the skin-walker. Maybe that was the point all along.

Plans upon plans, Meu smiled. The more complicated our plottings become, the more tenuous our chances of a reunion.

“It is but two points,” Creigal argued. “First I find the thief, then I go back home. Tis not a very complicated plan.”

Well, I shall have my daughter and grandchildren to distract me, Meu replied. I suppose time shall pass quickly while I wait for your return to the Soat.

Offering up myriad possibilities to each other, they continued to talk, until it was the duke’s turn to take the watch. He relieved Carringten, then returned to the jumble of boulders where he left Meu.

They sat under the faint light of the Tears of the Broken Moon with Tristmegist high above, and gazed off into the trees. For a time, Oblarra was below the horizon, which suited Meu just fine, as she never cared for the creeping red light of that antagonistic Infinity—but it wasn’t long before the red god rose and cast her grim pallor across the dark land.

For a time, the couple continued to talk, until Meu ran out of things to say, then she leaned on the duke and rested her eyes. Before long, she’d fallen asleep. Creigal smiled and smoothed her hair, content to feel the weight of her, to hear her rhythmic breathing, to smell her delicate perfume—and as they sat, he thought of his quest. Not an assassination attempt, not a poisoning, or even the sentence of death had caused him to question his path overly much; but now he had a choice to make, and he hoped with all his heart that he’d not hear another word or whisper of Humbert, so the question might decide itself.

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

The next day, as the party continued east, a rider bearing the colors and insignia of the Oak and Beast approached upon the road. Duboha introduced the grim old man to the Saots. “This is our cousin, Roustich.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Rynth Falls,” Creigal shook his head. “I know little of the place. It is a Trohl outpost on the border of the Noeth., is it not?”

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

“If Kezodel was involved, then we can assume the Ministrians are also involved,” Creigal began. “If the Ministrians are behind it, then King Gred duReb would know of it, which means Count Drefford probably knows, and even the Dunkels are likely to be in on it,” he speculated.

“Someone was in on it,” Roustich agreed. “There were men from the kingdom that rode with these marauders. They bore a raptor as their emblem, colored red and black. I was told the duchy—but it was not one I recognized.”

Creigal glanced down at his ring of ruby and obsidian that bore the likeness of a bird, a kite, even a raptor.

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

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

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

“There are more contradictions,” Carringten shrugged. “These Trohls strike south at Solveny, instead of going after Wibbeley, where their troubles truly originate? But why?”

“Because they are duped,” Duboha suggested.

With a smile, Creigal touched his nose.

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

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

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

“Oh, Yurand is sworn to Land’s End,” Creigal agreed. “But they do not like each other. The animosity between these two families is well known, and goes back generations,” he continued. “Still, one finds himself with the alliances he has, and not always the alliances he wants—so although the Dunkels may not like High Plains, they will not openly attack the man. That’s not to say they won’t let the count be destroyed, so they can point the finger at me and cry foul.”

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

“It appears so,” Creigal frowned. “In the name of Solveny, the Dunkels will mount an army, drive it south to Gaurring, and raise a ruckus. At the same time, they will leave these meddlesome Bouge to destroy Yurand.”

“I see the sense of it,” Duboha nodded. “Land’s End means to blame this all on an imagined alliance between you and the Bouge, even though it is the Ministrians that are driving all of this. Then they can have their war with you, and also rid themselves of a bannerman they don’t particularly care for.”

“Such deception,” Carringten spit. “Truly disgusting.”

“Then you understand why we fight for our freedom,” Creigal replied.

Carringten frowned. “I’ve always understood.”

With a smile, Creigal put a comforting hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Still, we expect the war. Yurand does not. If Solveny is destroyed, he will not offer much resistance. High Plains is less than half its size.”

“Yes, but High Plains is a more defendable position,” Baet noted. “Solveny just has more people.”

“Had,” Roustich corrected. “It is said that quite a slaughter took place.”

“I feel for Yurand,” Creigal began. “He is a good man, and his people are a good people. I wish there was something we could do for him.”

“Perhaps there is,” Roustich noted. “When we get home, we will bring this to Azra’s attention.”

“And what will this Azra do?” Creigal wondered.

“He is wise and resourceful,” Roustich said. “If something can be done, he will do it.”

Aim turned to Creigal. “Do you think your enemies are simply taking advantage of your absence?” he asked the foreign duke.

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

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

“Perhaps,” Creigal answered. “it is certainly another reason to go south—but perhaps we will have little to do with it.”

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

“We did not come all this way and at such a cost just to quit,” Cregial replied. “We are nearly to Hearthstone, and Land’s End is just a few more days. Let us answer one question at a time.”

“But war,” Aim countered.

Creigal shrugged and turned to his captain. ”How long have we been at war with the king?”

“As long as I can remember,” Carringten shrugged. “I dare say you were at war when you first found me as a child.”

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

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

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

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

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

Creigal shrugged. “By now the King must know that we do not war with the Breck. Indeed, I suspect he’s known for some time that the fighting between us was nothing but pretense. What are the chances he hasn’t sniffed out at least a few of our deceptions?”

Carringten shrugged. “He must know something.”

“Whatever he knows, he thinks he can win a war, and so he has acted against us,” Baet replied.

Creigal nodded. “I fear the fighting will soon reach the duchy.”

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

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

“Some of these other duchies will not join the King?“ Duboha asked.

“Well,” Creigal contemplated. “I could see Pagladoria sending troops and aid, even without such a ruse, but Kelm will need to be pushed.”

“What of Ewile?” Baet wondered.

“Ewile is likely to sit aside,” Creigal continued. “My father was a student of their queen, Smixsmaxmia, and I feel they have not strayed too far from her teachings. Indeed, if we should win this fight—and we do not aim to lose—we might see them also declaring themselves independent of the throne.”

“So it looks to be Gaur and the Breck against Danya, the Noeth, Kelm, Pagladoria, and the vast hordes of Empress Seveticah,” Aim summed it up.

“But at least Ewile will sit it out,” Roustich said, and shook his head. “Assuming all these duchies are equal, it does not bode well for you.”

“Assuming all these duchies are equal,” Baet smirked. “Does no one mind that we have black powder?”

The Jindleyak all glanced at each other sideways. They didn’t consider that to be any sort of advantage.

Creigal turned to the junior guard with a nod, “we have gone to great lengths to make sure no one minds that we have black powder.”

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

“That is the word,” Roustich nodded.

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

“I had not considered it,” Creigal replied.

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

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

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

“Yet, he mislead me, and nearly killed us all,” Creigal noted. “When I needed him most, he turned coat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got me,” Naiphan grinned and shook his head at the senior Jay. He stared her straight in the eye and added, “You’re not in charge,” then turned and continued walking.

Meriona rolled her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naiphan bit down and Meriona could feel the skin breaking.

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

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

Meriona shrieked.

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

Meriona was out. Naiphan tugged at her clothes, then took her in the road, as gravel scratched and scraped at her back. As he was having his way with her, Meriona came to and thought to fight him—but whenever she did, he simply hit her until she went limp again. Finally finished, Naiphan wrapped his fingers about her neck and started to squeeze.

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

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

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

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

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

Bruck tsked. “Still tellin’ us what to do. Still trying to be in charge,” he said. “Don’t you ever learn?” He climbed on top of her and she tried to fight him off, but she was drained, and he caught the stub of her finger in his hand and squeezed.

Meriona screamed bloody murder as pain shot up her arm.

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

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

Meriona closed her eyes and cried.

“That’s right,” he said as he continued to push. “Cry for my dead brothers.”

Thank the gods, he finally finished. Meriona curled into a fetal position. She heard the scuff of boots approaching and expected Naiphan would either take her again or simply kill her. Probably both. She prayed he’d kill her first, and when his shadow blocked the sun, she even asked for death. “Kill me,” she pleaded.

Naiphan considered her request. “No,” he finally answered. “No… let’s leave her. What’s worse than the misery of being used and powerless?”

Bruck chuckled.

“Yeah, let’s leave her be. Then, maybe when she’s better, she’ll crawl out west,” Naiphan continued as he leaned in close. “Come back home,” he said in a soothing voice. “Come home, so when we see you, we can do this little dance again,” he grinned. “After all, you still got nine more fingers.” With that, he turned to leave.

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

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

It was dark when Meriona woke again—and thank Rauthmaug she was alone! Her dress was missing. She lifted her head, despite the throbbing pain, and searched for it in the road. Little did she know that Naiphan took it with him, then threw it in the ditch about a mile down the road. She would not find it.

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

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

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

“Well that’s a good sign,” a strange voice clucked. “She’s alive enough to fight…”

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

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

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