Gender: Male
Status: Married
Age: 43
City: YORKTOWN
State: Virginia
Country: US
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Thursday, May 08, 2008
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Current mood:  impervious
Category: Writing and Poetry
CHAPTER 7
Jack strained not to cough as he waved the biting smoke out of his eyes, and moved to another portion of the tiny room. He glared at Kalladen as the ex-shadowkin grinned smugly at Jack's discomfort. Goblin was doing a ritual in which smoke from a brazier was supposed to drift in the direction One-eye was being held. Somehow it seemed that Jack would always be standing right where the smoke first started to drift, and he thought that Kalladen took an entirely unreasonable pleasure in that fact.
Goblin had drawn a crude circle on the floor, where he sat in the center with the brazier and the magic card with One-eye's picture. He had just finished chanting something, and the smoke from the brazier was questing hazily about.
"I'll use the link between the card and One-eye to attempt to determine One-eye's direction," Goblin had explained. "The smoke is enchanted to be pulled along in the direction of the link, and the drift of the smoke will tell use the direction to One-eye's captivity."
Goblin had continued reluctantly, "There are, unfortunately, a couple of theoretical problems with this. The first is that the link doesn't travel through normal space, in the same plane as living beings. The magic of the link only impinges upon our plane at the ends of the link. This means that there are only a few inches or feet of link to which the smoke can react. The second problem is that the link isn't really a single strand of mana -- rather, the mana that forms the link will travel along all possible paths at once, and not just in a straight line. But... it should travel more strongly along the paths near the straight line, the way a river that overflows its banks is deeper in its original course."
Jack had just nodded as if he understood, and then asked, "What exactly does that mean in practical terms?"
Goblin looked a bit disappointed, but finally responded, "In effect, the smoke will be drawn along a cone shaped path, the center of which should roughly indicate One-eye's direction."
Jack had raised one eybrow and replied, "Right..."
This was the first time they'd done this in the daytime, and Jack was more nervous than usual. He and his companions had already attracted too much attention in Caernadruin, and he didn't want to attract more. They were disguised, but that meant little when it came to magic. Goblin said with certainty that they could not be scried upon without his knowledge, but Jack knew that there are ways around such limitations, and he also knew that those with power often overlooked their own weaknesses. Jack itched to be elsewhere; there were other avenues he could follow, to try to locate One-eye. They'd been at this magic thing for days, and had only narrowed the search down to one quarter of the city -- and Caernadruin was a big city of at least 100,000 people. Goblin was hoping that performing the search ritual during the day might give a better response, since hopefully One-eye would be awake and the barriers around him weakened by his active resistance. It'd be nice if it worked, especially now that the smoke had stopped pursuing Jack around the room and had settled down to the spell's business.
Jack had urged Osiric to send someone else with Goblin and Kalladen, but the Randgrith lord had insisted that Jack was the only real choice. Goblin would be wrapped up in his spellcasting, and someone needed to watch Kalladen. Varth was still too full of hatred to put him with Kalladen in a small room all day; Caradoc was too impatient, too irritated by small spaces; Hannabryn, for all her willingness, didn't have the skill to oppose Kalladen if it became necessary -- and she was too new to Osiric's service to be trusted completely. Jack had suggested Brother Hendrake, but Osiric had wanted him to stay near Lady Helmgrim, for which Jack could not fault him, given their recent troubles with the shadowkin. In truth, Jack was the only real choice Osiric had, much as it chafed. But that didn't stop Jack from wanting to follow other trails. Osiric had been sending Varth and Hannabryn around the city getting information, but it was a slow process, since Jack couldn't know in advance what information would be useful -- made worse by the fact that they didn't want to draw too much attention. It wouldn't do for whoever had One-eye to know what progress they might be making toward finding him, and it still looked like Lord Belegor Grandrith was the prime candidate for captor. Kalladen was certain of it, anyway. Jack also didn't want to draw any more attention from the city's seneschal, Baron Targellin. The Baron had already requested Osiric's attendance at an audience in a few days.
Events had grown beyond the scope Jack had been anticipating. Belegor was dealing with shadowkin, and had possibly acted directly against a member of the House. That made him a traitor, and certainly violated his oaths as Lord Randgrith. If it was true, and they could prove it, Belegor would be stripped of his lordship. If One-eye died, Belegor would be a murderer, and even inadequate proof might be enough to strip the Randgrith name and titles from him and expel him from the House. Just might, because though there was precedent, it had cost the House dearly the last time a Lord Randgrith had been disowned. That had been Lord Cormoran Cachul, a brilliant and driven man who, it had been discovered, had killed his older brother to gain the title of Lord Randgrith. The proof had been insufficient for the King's Court, but had been enough to convince the Families of House Randgrith. Cormoran had been stripped of his lands and titles by a unanimous decision of the Blood Lineal, and cast out of the House. It had been a turbulent time for Dalarda, though, and Cormoran had been able to make a name for himself. He won himself a generalship from the King, and dominated Dalarda's enemies on the field of battle. In gratitude, the King had ennobled the now clanless Cormoran, who took his new House's name from a foreign language. He had grown a terrible hatred for House Randgrith, which he passed on to his descendents. Even today, there is hatred between House Randgrith and Cormoran's House Bevyar, who had used lies and treachery to achieve Cormoran's dying wish -- that House Randgrith exist no more in Dalarda. That victory was still incomplete, though. House Randgrith had thrived in exile the last 80 years. But an exiled House is always in a precarious position -- not supported by their homeland, and not completely trusted in the lands where they now took residence. The Blood Lineal of the House might not want to risk making another Cormoran Bevyar.
"Well now," Goblin muttered, interrupting Jack's musing. "This is interesting." The mage was peering intently into the smoke which was still wavering hazily in the air. Kalladen and Jack were both silent, not wanting to break the mage's concentration. Jack looked carefully into the air where Goblin was staring. He wasn't sure, but he thought that the smoke was behaving differently than it had the previous times he had watched this spell. It wasn't drifting anywhere, for one thing. Usually it ended up drifting toward one of the walls, which would give them the direction in which One-eye might be found. This time, it almost pulsed, contracting and expanding in a slow rhythmical fashion.
Goblin maintained his concentration has he spoke again. "I was thinking about what you were asking the other day, Jack. About whether the barriers that hid One-eye from us were physical or magical in origin. I told you then that they were probably physical, since it would take a great deal of power to bind One-eye, and even more to keep it up indefinitely. I couldn't do it," he said candidly. Goblin tilted his head slightly to one side to get a different angle on the wavering smoke. "But as I told you, there are several different materials that might be used to block magic - all rare, and all expensive."
Jack nodded slightly to indicate that he remembered, and Goblin continued, "I thought that I might be able to narrow down the list for you a bit. Whatever the barrier is, it blocks all magic attempting to cross it - we already knew that. But there are several ways in which this might happen: the magic could be reflected or deflected, as if a stone struck a wall; the magic could be absorbed, as if a stone sinking into water; or it could be shattered and diffused, which means that the logic of the magic would be torn apart, and would pass through the barrier as sand through a sieve - never to be put back into the form of a stone again. I thought that I might be able to tell which was occurring, and thus be able to tell you which materials to look for, so I modified this spell," a hand indicated the smoke, "to have two parts. The first part would send a 'stone' along the link between the card and One-eye, and the second part would tell me what happened to that magical stone. The result would be reflected in the behavior of the smoke."
Alright. That made a sort of sense. Jack looked at the smoke for a few seconds, but he just couldn't figure out what it was saying. He couldn't keep himself from finally asking, "So which one is it? I can't tell."
Goblin shrugged, never taking his eyes off of the smoke. "You can't tell, because it isn't any of those three. Or rather, it's a little bit of all of them." He said that like it was something special.
"What material is that, then?" Jack asked.
"There is no material that has more than one of these properties, Jack," Goblin replied. He smiled wryly. "It seems I was wrong. The only way this barrier could adapt this way is if it is a spell. It's magic, Jack," he elaborated. "It is being maintained by a living being. That pulsing you see? That's the person's heartbeat, reflected in the shifting strength of the barrier."
Jack looked again at that slowly pulsing smoke, and replied doubtfully, "Are you sure? It's pretty slow for a heartbeat." It was only pulsing two or three times a minute.
Goblin looked faintly startled, and was silent for a few minutes as he examined the smoke. Finally, he said almost to himself, "It must be a heartbeat, it's the only explanation that makes sense."
A man can't be an expert on everything, at least Jack couldn't, and so he made it his policy not to second guess experts in their own field. If Goblin said it was a heartbeat, then a heartbeat it was until something proved differently. It was, at least, more information than they had had before. Osiric could stop having Varth and Hannabryn checking with the merchants of strange materials. Jack squatted down against the wall to get a better angle on the smoke. If you ignored the slowness of it, it did look very like a heartbeat. Jack probably wouldn't have noticed, except that several of the Teinne Doigh meditations he used focused on perceiving and controlling his own heartbeat, but there was something odd about the rhythm of that pulsing smoke.
"Um, Goblin?" Jack started, then trailed off.
"So you see it too, Jack?" Goblin responded.
"It's not just me, then? That really is a triple beat?"
Anyone who has exercised hard has heard the pounding of their own heartbeat, and knows that it has a double beat. But this smoke-reflected heart appeared to have a triple beat, three contractions each cycle.
Goblin nodded, and passed a hand through the smoke, which immediately began to disperse. The old mage turned to look at Jack. Something hard glittered in his eyes as he said, "No human has a heart that beats like that. And no human could keep that spell up for the months that it has been in effect."
Jack felt a chill and a stirring from that cold place in the back of his mind. "Stop beating around the bush, mage, and just say it."
"The source of this spell is demonic," Goblin said calmly, though Jack could see the cords knotting in his neck.
"That would explain why One-eye was taken," Kalladen said suddenly.
Jack jumped as the ex-shadowkin spoke. He had almost forgotten the man was there.
But before Jack could respond, Goblin replied, "That's true. If Belegor, or Varzini, is dealing with a demon, then One-eye would be a serious threat. He knows more about sensing and opposing demonic forces than any mage I know of. And he's powerful, too."
"And it would explain why Kalladen was set to watch One-eye," Jack concluded. "They needed to know what he was doing, and whether he was onto them." All three fell silent as they considered the implications. It fit too well. And if it were true, then they had more trouble than Jack had thought. There was no further conversation as they waited for the brazier to cool, each wrapped in their own private thoughts.
Hours later, Jack wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes and let go of the meditation. He cleaned his daggers off and re-sheathed them. For the two weeks since the shadowkin attack, Jack had been spending a couple of hours each day training with the knives. He was examining each fight he'd recently had in the cool, emotionless light of a deep sean-aoidh meditation. Jack broke each fight down into sequences, each sequence down into individual techniques, and studied them. Jack was already good enough that he had gone past studying individual techniques, of course. But he was studying the principles behind the techniques that had been used against him - particularly the effective ones. He'd then invent combat drills based on those principles, and practice them over and over, until he had internalized the principles he was studying. Years of intermittent practice was beginning to develop into a level of skill that was a surprise to Jack. He was melding the disciplines and practices of the Teinne Doigh with the precision and techniques of knife fighting, to create a whole new fighting form.
Osiric was training hard in the Teinne Doigh with Brother Hendrake. Jack thought they had both been unpleasantly surprised by the skill of the shadowkin, and that touch of fear had brought a new intensity level to their training. Jack had been invited to train with them, but had declined in favor of training with his knives. He knew he'd never be a master at the Teinne Doigh - the deeper disciplines were beyond him. But the dance of knives called to Jack. He'd even surprised Varth last time they'd sparred. If they both had swords, Varth won every time, of course. But if they both had knives, Varth couldn't touch Jack. When the young assassin had first realized that, his jaw had dropped! Even more surprising to them both was the fact that if Varth used a sword, and Jack used his knives, it was close. Varth still had the edge, but Jack was winning one out of four matches, something Varth and Angrenbor both said was impossible. You just couldn't fight against a sword with knives - the disadvantages were too great, they said. They weren't so positive after that sparring session, which gave Jack hope that he wasn't just chasing rainbows by training exclusively with knives. And he was still getting better. He hadn't yet gotten all the way through his meditational analysis of the Shadowkin fight.
Jack wiped his body clean of sweat as his breathing slowed to normal. Osiric had planned a meeting of the company this evening, after Varth and Hannabryn returned from their tasks. Goblin, Kalladen, and Jack had returned early, since they hadn't had to do the mapping and measuring they normally did. Jack would bathe before the meeting, but first he had to do something he didn't want to do.
Sitting at the writing table in his room, Jack pulled a clean piece of paper out of the drawer, dipped his quill, and began to write. In its own way, writing that letter was one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do, because he knew it would start a chain of events that he'd been trying to avoid. But Jack had known all along that some duties are inescapable. This once, he knew that his ancestors were not laughing. They'd each had to face this particular responsibility themselves.
When Jack was done, he went looking for someone, although he didn't know exactly who it would be. He knew she'd have sent someone. Jack found him in the stables, currying a horse. Something inside Jack recognized him instantly.
"Challa ricel aedal sum lachar, num Spiryt?" Jack said, somewhat harshly in the old family tongue. Whom do you serve, child of Clan Spryte? It was a challenge, and meant to be.
The man's hand completed one graceful sweep with the brush, then fell to his side. He turned to give Jack a steady look. He was big and brown, and he radiated a calm self-assurance as he evaluated Jack. Jack could see that same silent recognition in his eyes.
"I was born to Clan Spryte, and I served the Clan." The brown man answered in the old tongue. After a pause he smiled slowly, "Now I serve the Oath, and its bearer. How can I serve, Oathbearer?"
He had called Jack by the ancient word kir, which carried the paradoxical meanings of both "oath-breaker" and "oath-fulfiller", and was usually translated as "oath-bearer". They both knew which oath was meant by this.
Jack's answering smile was wry, and didn't let his inner turmoil show. This was the first time he had called upon another's oath; he'd been avoiding that responsibility for years. Jack was suddenly amused that his first official action as Kir 'na Spryte would be this.
"I need you to take a letter to my mother..."
Osiric evidently decided that the silence had gone on long enough. "Well, it's not good news, but at least we know what we are dealing with. The first priority is still finding One-eye. Jack, any ideas?"
Sure, throw me to the wolves. Jack shot Osiric a pained look, but Osiric just smiled. Goblin had described the events of this morning, and an oppressive stillness had fallen over the study. Jack guessed that he had just been chosen to be the first one to make a fool of himself, since Jack knew next to nothing about demons.
"My lord," Jack acknowledged. "I don't really have any ideas, just a couple of observations. It strikes me that this is the second time in two months that we've dealt with demonic power. First Scroupe, and now Varzini." Looking around the room Jack could see that the others had already been thinking about this. "I think it may be the same demon, because I don't really believe in coincidence. We know Scroupe didn't contact a demon by himself. So who put him in contact with it? We may either believe that there are two demonologist in compact with powerful demons in the same area, or there is only one demon." The others had been nodding as he spoke. It seemed that they had all come to the same conclusion.
"But what difference does it make?" Hannabryn asked. "That doesn't help us find it."
Varth disagreed with a shake of his head. "That's not necessarily true. If Varzini and Scroupe serve the same demonic master, then we might find Varzini by finding Scroupe. It's much harder to hide two people than to hide one," he said with a confidence born from experience.
Jack was looking at Goblin. Something told the Randgrith spy that the best way to find One-eye would mean using magic, and Goblin was the only one who could figure out how to do that. Jack could almost feel the mage's concentration, and he hoped it meant that the mage had an idea.
Caradoc and Varth had begun to discuss how they might track down Scroupe, with interjections from Hannabryn. Osiric was sitting back in his chair, watching Jack watch Goblin. Jack saw when Goblin hit on it; his eyes took on a feral gleam. Ah, the mage had something. Jack relaxed back into his seat, and Osiric transferred his gaze to the older man.
Goblin's voice ground over the conversation as he said, "I hope you're right, Jack." He turned to Osiric. "Part of the problem is that demonic power is extremely hard to detect. It's tuned specifically to the demon that is its source, and almost invisible to all others. I could scry for years and never tell if random demon magic was around. One-eye might sense it, but I won't."
"And if Jack's right and it's the same demon?" Osiric prompted him. "How does that help?"
"The difference," Goblin growled, "is that I know that bastard's Name." They could all hear the capital letter. "It makes all the difference in the world. So much difference that if you give me an hour or so I can tell you if it is the same creature."
That made them all sit up and take notice. Real information!
"Do it," Osiric commanded. "Now."
They all trudged up the hallway to the suite that was Goblin's. The large central room was empty of furniture. The mage admonished them to be quiet as he made his preparations. Hannabryn was to help him, since this test would actually be two spells. He set up that damned brazier, and Jack made sure he was on the opposite side of Varth, this time. Varth looked at Jack quizzically as Goblin lit the coals. A few moments later Varth was coughing and choking as acrid smoke, true to form, crept toward Jack. Varth shot his friend a nasty look. Jack put on his best innocent look, but Varth wasn't buying as he moved to the other side of the room. Osiric watched, fascinated, as Goblin chanted the first spell. It was the same spell Jack had been watching for days, and the novelty had worn off. Smoke formed a slowly beating heart over the glowing coals, and when the mage was done, Hannabryn took his place in front of the brazier. She would maintain the search spell, while Goblin cast another, more intricate spell. He didn't explain how this one worked, but it entailed drawing complex sigils on the floor with chalk, a lit candle, and a slender golden wand. Several passes were made through the candle flame with the wand, which was then put aside. Goblin picked up the candle and walked over to the smoky heart. He held the candle beneath the apparition, and the smoke lit up with a golden glow.
"Got you, you son-of-a-bitch," Goblin breathed. He put the candle down, and the smoke returned to grayness. Hannabryn released the spell she had been holding and the smoke began to disperse.
"It is the same demon, my lord," Goblin said to Osiric. "Give me a day or two to work out the spells, and I'll be able to find it anywhere in the city." His eyes were gleaming in triumph.
"Good. Do that, then. Tell me when you are ready. We'll be waiting." Osiric motioned for them to leave the mage's rooms. "You'll have whatever you need."
They left the mage alone to work, and returned to Osiric's study to make plans. They were somewhat tentative by necessity, since they had no idea where One-eye was being held, but they considered their resources. There was a thread of excitement in the discussion that had been missing in recent days. Jack for one felt almost like a animal freed from a cage. At last they were able to act, or at least would be when Goblin made real his promises. Jack could see that his friends felt it too. Even Osiric allowed a grin or two to escape his solemn demeanor as they schemed. Jack went back to his room smiling, even down in that cold place in the bottom of his mind. Soon would come the hunt.
The next day, Jack took some time to look up Brother Hendrake. The older man laughed when Jack explained what he wanted, but found it for him in the Helmgrim Manor library. Jack fulfilled a promise he'd made to himself years ago, and spent the day studying maps of Caernadruin's sewer system. Over the years, Jack had developed a method for memorizing such maps, and it worked well enough that by the time he was done, he had most of the underground system memorized. Jack put the maps and the need away, and went to the practice hall with his knives.
Almost four days had passed when Goblin at last told Osiric he had the spell crafted. As they assembled once again in Osiric's study, there grew an almost palpable sense of anticipation. There was a lively conversation between Varth and Caradoc on the merits of the sword verses the merits of the bow. Hannabryn sauntered over to Jack as they waited for Goblin.
"Hey, Jack," Hannabryn greeted him. "Can I ask you a question?" Jack nodded his assent. "What would have happened if Goblin hadn't figured out how to find the demon?" she asked.
"We'd have found another way," Jack replied. She looked at him dubiously. "No, really," he said. "We might have staked out Grandrith Manor - you know that Belegor would be wanting regular reports from Varzini. A messenger of some sort would have to have been coming and going. We might have checked the city records for property ownership and found all of Belegor's properties and checked them out. The records are pretty good, due to the need for land taxes. At the absolute most desperate, we might have put pressure directly on Belegor, and attempted to find out from his reaction where he might be keeping One-eye."
Hannabryn nodded thoughtfully. "But those are all more risky than this. I see."
Bright girl. Jack was congratulating himself for hiring her to Osiric's service as Goblin entered the room with a sheaf of maps and that damned brazier. Jack made sure that Hannabryn was between him and the ancestor-cursed thing, this time. He noticed that Varth put himself on the opposite side of the brazier from Jack, who caught the younger man's eye and mouthed "Traitor!" Varth sent back a smug grin.
Tables and chairs had been moved to make a clear space in the center of the room, and the maps were assembled to create a fairly detailed representation of the city of Caernadruin. Goblin took seven leather pouches from a sack. One by one he opened the pouches to reveal dirt. Referring to a smaller map he had with him, he carefully rubbed dirt from each sack on a specific spot around the perimeter of the large map we'd assembled. Then he chanted a brief incantation.
"The map is now a sympathetic representation of the city. It's tenuous - not enough to actually affect the city, but enough for our purposes," Goblin explained as he placed dark brown candles carefully on each spot of dirt. "The candles will be used to provide the matrix of power to activate those similarities." One by one he lit the candles with a muttered phrase. As the second candle was lit, Jack could briefly see a faint line of light connecting the two lit candles. As each succeeding candle was lit, the tracery of lines was repeated, connecting each lit candle to every other lit candle. As the last candle was lit, the lines formed an intersecting web over the whole map of the city. When Jack looked at the map from the corner of his eye, he could still see those faint traceries of light. In the flickering light of the candles, the map seemed changed, more solid, almost like a real landscape.
"Good," Goblin muttered. "It's working." Now he turned to the brazier, and began to light it. Jack moved a bit farther away, and pretended that he didn't hear Hannabryn coughing as the smoke bit at her lungs. After a few seconds, the smoke cleared. It seemed that Goblin was burning something different than the usual charcoal, this time. He took a piece of paper, covered with sigils and symbols much like those he'd drawn on the floor some days earlier. He blew gently on the coals to get them burning hot, then fed the paper to the brazier. As it burned, it sent up little sparks like glowing embers that flew in dizzy columns above the brazier. When the paper was completely consumed, the air over the coals was filled with dozens of these dancing sparks. Jack was as fascinated as the rest of his friends by this whole process, and was getting so used to Goblin's magic that it didn't even make him uncomfortable. Much.
With a word of command, Goblin blew on those sparks, sending them dancing over the map of the city, bound somehow within the ring of candles.
"The sparks will resonate with the demon. They will be attracted to the places where the creature's power is active." Goblin said as they watched those wandering points of light. Here and there, two of the sparks would meet, and join to make a larger one, and slowly they began to swirl in specific areas. As the process of coalescing continued, the movements of the sparks was more and more constrained. Until at the last, there were only four brightly glowing points dancing in separate tight circles above the map.
"That's here!" Caradoc pointed out in alarm at the spark circling in the area of Helgrim Manor. The scale of the map was small enough that each circling spark covered several blocks worth of terrain, but it did certainly appear that one of them was circling Osiric's home.
"Damn!" Goblin muttered irritably. "Forgot about that."
"The mirror?" Jack asked, since obviously the cat was out of the bag.
"Yes," Goblin confirmed. He reassured Caradoc, "I brought Scroupe's magic mirror with us, since I didn't feel it was safe at Delwyn Keep."
If Caradoc was offended at being kept in ignorance about the mirror, it didn't show. Instead, he grinned. "Guess your spell really does work, then."
"That's why the concern about the wagon," Varth observed. "I had wondered." Jack looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Varth responded to the unspoken question with a shrug. "I figured if I needed to know, either Osiric or you would have told me."
"Hmm," Jack responded noncommittally. He had noticed something else on the map that was a concern. "That one's around Grandrith Manor," he pointed out.
"I saw that," Osiric acknowledged. "It makes sense. I'd doubt that One-eye is there, though. It'd be one of the first places we'd check." It also confirmed that Belegor and Varzini were One-eye's jailers. Jack could see that the confirmation of that had hit Osiric hard, but Jack had no words of comfort to offer. That left two sparks. Both of those were over areas of the city that Jack wasn't familiar with.
Goblin had picked up the smaller map he'd referred to earlier, and was marking the flights of the sparks on it. Jack mentally added the spark areas to the sewer maps he had memorized, which provided excellent points of reference for the city.
Osiric motioned Jack over, and spoke quietly. "Jack, you and Varth go check those two areas out. Don't attempt to mount a rescue," he warned, "even if you're sure you've found One-eye. And be careful. Don't slip up. If they think we're getting close, they'll kill him." Jack nodded. "Report to me when you get back."
Jack bowed my head to Osiric, then walked over and touched Varth on the shoulder. When Varth turned, Jack motioned for him. An easy, dangerous stillness fell over the young assassin, and he did not smile. As they were leaving, Jack thought he heard Hannabryn say uneasily to Caradoc, "He's loosed the hounds."
Caradoc responded with, "Aye. The hunt begins in earnest, now." It sounded like he was smiling.
Fifteen minutes was all it took to get ready. Jack had strapped on leather armor beneath an old, stained, too-large tunic and cotton breeches. A tattered cloak and a battered hat, and he was ready. He slipped several knives here and there about his person and slid out the window to meet Varth. The younger man was gray smoke and moon-shadow as he waited in stillness for Jack. It was late, Jack observed with faint surprise. The sun had been gone for a couple of hours, even though it was nearing mid-summer. Darkness embraced them with its protection as they slipped up next to the back wall of the estate.
"No watcher," Varth breathed into Jack's ear.
They had decided to go over the back wall and walk to town, just in case Helmgrim Manor was being watched. An hour later they were in the center of Caernadruin's walled inner-city, and none of the dozens of people they'd seen had noticed our passage. The streets were not completely empty. Tradesmen getting home late from the alehouse; lovers sneaking off to assignations; homeless and broken people lying restlessly in the alleys; and people doing business, some even legal, moved intermittantly through the dark streets. Two more night people did not draw notice as they trudged along the moonlit cobblestones.
They were approaching the first of the two unknown sources of demon magic that Goblin had identified. Jack hadn't been in this section of Caernadruin before. Merchant homes and shops lined the streets, representing all the numerous trades and crafts a city requires. There were several blocks of buildings and narrow alleys within the area Goblin's dancing sparks had indicated. As they approached Jack began to walk slower, with a heavier tread, plodding like a tired tradesman after a long day. Varth matched his pace, wrapping a light cloak about him and effectively concealing his sword.
"This do no' look li' the place," Jack complained hoarsely. "She said 'twer a fish-monger, and th' aint."
Varth gave him an unreadable look, and responded with a shrug. "Ya must' took a wrong turn, then." Jack almost smiled, but the cold stirring in his mind wouldn't let him. Varth was playing his part.
"Na," Jack denied. "I follered it right. You go down tha' way," he nodded, "an I'll git on up this way. Holler if ya see th' place." Varth wandered muttering down the alley Jack had indicated, while Jack continued up the narrow lane. If there were guards, they'd take the two Randgrith as lost tradesman, out on some fool's errand.
Jack met Varth on the other side of the area indicated by Goblin's map. The younger man shook his head slightly at Jack's inquiring look. He hadn't seen anything either. Jack nodded, and turned to lead the way into a tiny alley they'd passed moments before. The darkness was nearly complete in here, as Jack mumbled to Varth, "I'm going to try something. Keep watch." Varth nodded, and slipped to the shadows at the mouth of the alley.
Jack sat on the dirty cobbles and put his back against the wall. He focused his awareness on breathing, and slipped easily into the light trance he'd been using the past days during knife training. Slowly Jack deepened the trance, as deep as he could go. His senses melded together into that undifferentiated awareness that had become familiar during the trip from Delwyn to Caernadruin. In the deep trance, Jack could sense the life-energies of people nearby. He could, for instance, sense Varth at the end of the alley. On the journey from Delwyn, Jack had been able to sense the energies of the mirror that they'd taken from Scroupe. That mirror was linked somehow to the demon power that held One-eye, and Jack hoped he might sense something of that power now.
Jack turned his gestalt awareness outward, into the buildings behind him. He sensed sleeping minds, and a few awake ones, but nothing he'd call demonic. Of course, his awarness couldn't cover the whole search area. Jack didn't know if he could hold this deep a sean-aoidh meditation if he was moving, but he decided to try. Jack glided to his feet with a faint creak of leather, and walked gently out of the alley. He was aware of Varth slipping along beside him through the shadows as he tried to decide which way to go. There, off to Jack's left, a hint of something. Nothing distinct, just a faint taste of red, and the feel of vinegar and copper tinkling gently in his ears. Now it was gone. Jack went in that direction anyway, and as he got closer, he could smell it again, stronger. It led to a cluster of buildings just like all the others along the street. Shops beneath, and living quarters above, and stacked end to end so they could share walls. And a number of waking, excited minds within - and the tangy sight of orange blood singing in the stones. Something bad was definitely in there.
"They seem to be having a meeting right now," Jack said with some surprise as he let go the meditation.
"That's the place?" Varth asked in a whisper. His eyes were glittering as they surveyed the unassuming homes stacked up together. "And they are in there?"
"I don't know where One-eye is, but there is power here," Jack replied quietly as he moved toward the alley next to the building. "And at least ten people. They are in the center of this block." Jack knew that there were often little courtyards in the centers of these blocks, shared by all the residents. Sort of private parks where the children could play safely, and the washing could be hung. Jack didn't see any access to such a thing, though the block was certainly large enough. He considered the wall, and then looked at Varth.
"Up?" Varth asked. No grin marred his professional demeanor as Jack nodded. The assassin slipped his sword around to hang behind him, and started lithely up the wall with Jack following. They made very little noise, which was due more to the ease of the climb than any skill they might have. Jack caught sight of an orange glow as Varth pulled him onto the roof. More a flicker reflecting off of one of the other roofs on this building, it reinforced a growing certainty. They crept up the shingled slope and peered over.
There was a courtyard in the center of the block, though there were no passages from the courtyard to the alleys or streets. That was unusual, but not unheard of. What was unusual was the group that was gathering within. A group of thirteen figures congregated in the center of the open space, in each hand a candle that burned with a dusky red-orange flame. Those occult flames did not illuminate the faces hidden within the gaping hoods of long rust-colored robes. Presiding over the gathering was another robed individual at one end of the courtyard. In his hands was a glittering orange gem that gathered the flickering candle light into itself to create a pulsing, shadow-filled glow.
"Scroupe," Varth breathed.
Remembered pain flashed along my nerves, but Jack ignored it to study the figure. It was the same gemstone Scroupe had used when he called upon his demon lord to save him from Jack, and so Jack judged Varth's conclusion to be correct. Rage moved darkly in the back of Jack's mind, and he ignored that too. Varth was fingering a slender knife, but Jack shook his head when Varth glanced at him.
"One-eye," Jack reminded Varth softly. He nodded. They were just finding the trail, tonight. Like the good hounds they were, they would not attack until Osiric gave them leave. For now.
Jack noticed that some of the figures were swaying slightly. Not in any particular rhythm, but as though they were tired. One or two seemed to have shaking hands. After a few minutes, the man they thought was Scroupe walked toward the circle of worshipers. He stopped behind one of them, and placed the orange gem against the back of the man's robed head. The candles the man held flickered as if in a strong breeze, and the man's knees began to buckle. The gem glowed with an inner radiance that was bright enough to confirm Scroupe's identity as he lifted the stone away from the man. The candles were not burning as brightly now, and the man swayed with weariness as Scroupe moved to the next in the circle. This process was repeated for each of the ten. Scroupe returned to his place at the end of the courtyard, and the action ceased.
This process was repeated every fifteen or twenty minutes. After the fourth time, all of the worshipers were in pretty bad shape. Two of them could barely hold their candles, and Jack wondered how long this had been going .. he and Varth had arrived. Jack didn't think those two would make it another time, and evidently neither did Scroupe, because he said something Jack couldn't make out, and the twenty candles were suddenly extinguished.
They could hear the rustle of cloth in the darkness, and when Scroupe lit a normal oil lantern, Jack was relieved. The ten worshipers had stripped off their robes and put them away in the darkness, and were now putting on normal clothing. They were men Jack didn't know, though he studied them so that he recognize them would if he saw them again. They all appeared worn to the point of exhaustion, except for Scroupe. He seemed full of energy, of vitality, and Jack felt suddenly sick. He wondered what promises the renegade lord had made in his demon lord's name that these young men let him feed off of them.
Varth had reached the same conclusion as Jack, and this at last touched his equanimity. His face was pinched and pale as he suppressed his anger. Now was not the time, and Varth knew it.
"We follow Scroupe," Jack breathed in Varth's ear as Scroupe bid an insincere farewell to his circle. Varth slid silently back down the slope of the roof and down into the shadows of the alley. Jack was only seconds behind as Varth crossed quickly across the street into the shadows on the other side. Jack thought he knew where Scroupe would go, and he whispered his guess in Varth's ear. The young assassin slipped down the alley while Jack waited for Scroupe to appear. Varth would get ahead of Scroupe; this kind of work was Varth's specialty. If Jack was wrong about Scroupe's destination then he might be on his own, but if he was right they dare not let Scroupe know he'd been followed. Jack would follow from a great enough distance that he might lose Scroupe, but that risk was acceptable.
Scroupe came out of the building moments after Varth had gone, and he turned in the direction Jack had been expecting. The renegade lord seemed wrapped in his own thoughts, and he didn't see Jack as he passed. Jack waited until Scroupe turned the corner, then stepped out of the shadows after him. Jack cut down a narrow alley, and up a side street. Seconds later, he saw Scroupe walk through the intersection ahead of him. Jack was careful not to be behind Scroupe for long. As the renegade lord neared his destination, he slowed, almost as though he didn't really want to get there.
This part of the city was very different from the place they'd just left. Small villas surrounded by low walls marked this as one of the wealthier quarters of the city. Not as large as most of the manors of the nobility, these homes were owned by wealthy merchants and guildmasters. Varth motioned to Jack from the darkness, who joined him behind the corner of one wall as they watched Scroupe enter through the gate of one of these homes. They waited for some time before they walked over to get a better look at the place.
A six foot tall wrought iron fence set this place apart from its neighbors. The fence stretched all the way around the property, and the decorative spear-tips on the top of the fence rails did not look dull. Jack fought the chill that crawled down his spine as the house stared back at them.
"This is the place," Varth said. "It's got to be."
"Yes," Jack agreed. A pall of evil seemed to ooze from the gothic architecture of the house. The aura of darkness was so strong, Jack wondered that the neighbors could sleep with the house squatting there all night. "We've got about half an hour. Check the back," Jack instructed. I will destroy this place, Jack's Rage was a frozen wind whispering in the back of his mind. Jack ignored the whisper, and began noting details of the house. They'd be trying to get One-eye out of here soon, and they'd need some sort of plan. Varth and Jack thoroughly examined the layout that was visible from the street, though they could not see inside the house due to heavy draperies over all the windows. In the last minutes before they left, Jack went to each corner of the place and gathered a handful of dirt, each of which he placed in a different pocket. Varth and Jack faded back into the night two hours before sunrise, and sped toward Helmgrim Manor. The hounds had found the beast's burrow.
Osiric and Goblin were dozing in Osiric's study when Varth and Jack returned. They woke as Jack poured Varth and himself mugs of ale from a pitcher sitting on a sideboard. The map of Caernadruin was still on the floor with the candles half burned around it.
"Well?" Osiric inquired as he raised an aristocratic eyebrow.
Jack paused to gather my thoughts, and replied, "Well, my lord, it's been an interesting little jaunt." Varth was settling into a chair as Jack lifted my cup to Goblin. "Your magic was dead on, venerable mage. But I'd bet that if you recast your spell, there'd only be three demon sparks now."
Goblin shifted as if to rise, but Osiric waved a hand in negation. "Later, if we feel it necessary," Osiric said. "For now, Jack, just tell us what you found."
Jack explained the night's activities, with frequent interjections from Varth, and wound up by pulling handsful of dirt from his pockets. "I thought I'd do a quick drawing of the villa, and you might redo your new search spell to try to pin-point One-eye's location within the house."
"Good thinking," Goblin murmured, a rare compliment from the older man that warmed Jack briefly. Osiric nodded agreement.
"Varth, you go get some sleep," Osiric decided "Jack, draw the map before you rest. Goblin, can you cast both the larger and the smaller versions of your search spell by mid-morning?" Goblin nodded.
"Then we'll meet here again about eleven o'clock," Osiric finished. "We'll decide how to proceed. There are some issues of concern to me, but I think we can discuss them then. In the afternoon I have the audience with the King's seneschal, Baron Targellin," Osiric reminded them. "And it may influence our plans. Until then, we keep quiet. Don't even talk to the servants," he warned. "We can't be sure how many are in Belegor's pay." This reminder of the type of game and the stakes for which they were playing was sobering. It was not just One-eye's welfare at stake, but very possibly the whole of House Randgrith.
"We'll get him back," Varth reassured Goblin quietly. He clasped the mage briefly on the shoulder as he left Osiric's study. Jack took a sheet of paper and quickly drew a sketch of the villa they'd followed Scroupe to. Jack marked the locations of the dirt he had collected, and left dirt and map on Osiric's drawing table. Goblin was beginning the first search spell to verify Jack's guess that there would be only three concentrations of the demon's power. Jack nodded to Osiric as he slipped out the door. The thought of sleep was inviting, for even hounds such as Jack needed to rest once in a while.
Jack looked up in surprise as Lady Helmgrim and Brother Hendrake entered the study. Osiric's mother was every inch the lady as she sailed to a place at Osiric's left.
"Thank you for coming, mother," Osiric greeted her fondly.
She unbent enough to smile slightly at Osiric, and responded dryly, "I wouldn't have missed it. Are you finally going to tell me what's going on?" To Jack's surprise, Osiric blushed.
Jack's chuckle turned into a cough and he hid his smirk behind his hand as Osiric glared at him. Jack held up a hand in apology, but he knew his eyes were glowing with amusement. Osiric was not so lucky when it came to Caradoc, who laughed out loud.
"You find something amusing?" Lady Helmgrim asked Caradoc, who immediately looked down and muttered an apology.
It was like watching two little boys being scolded. Goblin was grinning at Lady Helmgrim in affection. "Wish I knew how you did that, my lady," he said with open admiration. "I'd like to be able to keep these two in line."
"Me too," Jack muttered. Hannabryn's lip twitched as she overheard him, but she wasn't about to smile as the formidable Lady Helmgrim swept her gaze across them. Jack met Lady Helmgrim's fierce glare with the blandest expression he could, but he was relieved when she returned her gaze to Osiric. Varth and Kalladen were the last to arrive, and Varth had on his professional face. It was his turn to guard the ex-Shadowkin.
Osiric had regained his composure quickly. "Mother," he began quietly. "We have stumbled on treachery within House Randgrith. One-eye is being held prisoner, apparently at the command of Belegor Grandrith. We're pretty sure we've located him, and this strategy session is to discuss how we will free him. Belegor has also dealt with Shadowkin, and apparently with a demonic power, as well."
The Lady Helmgrim did not seem shocked. "Are you certain?" she asked mildly.
Osiric shrugged. "The evidence is pretty strong." He outlined the events that had happened since Kalladen's arrival at Delwyn Keep. Lady Helmgrim's first sign of concern was a frown over the Shadowkin attack. The look she turned on Kalladen was remote, considering, like an unhungry fox looking at a plump chicken. That look gave Jack the first glimpse of the steel within Osiric's mother.
Hannabryn leaned over to Jack and whispered, "Like they always say, Jack. If ever captured by the enemy, don't let them give you to the women." They shared a grin as Osiric continued explaining the activities of the last twenty-four hours. Lady Helmgrim's frown deepened as Osiric described Scroupe and the demon worshippers.
There were a few moments of silence after Osiric finished his explanations. Lady Helmgrim seemed to be carefully considering. She turned at last to Goblin. "You are sure about the demon?" she inquired.
"I have no doubt, my lady," Goblin responded.
"And One-eye is still alive?" she asked.
Goblin replied, "I am certain of it."
"Well," Lady Helmgrim sighed. "I never really liked Belegor, anyway." That drew an amused snort from Caradoc. She ignored him as she continued, "What do you need from me, Osiric?"
"I need some advice," Osiric replied with a tense smile. "This is uncharted territory for us. We are talking about an armed assault on the home of a Brithonian merchant, in the King's city. As you know, I have an audience with the King's seneschal this very afternoon; it appears that we've already drawn some unhappy notice from the Baron. Belegor's involvement means that this conflict may affect the future of the Randgrith Lines here in Caernadruin, not just the few of us at this table." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Beyond the recovery of One-eye, we must consider what to do about Belegor. He is a traitor to the House, and has violated his oaths as Lord Randgrith," Osiric concluded. "You've been in Caernadruin for a long time, mother. What are the political ramifications of this rescue attempt?"
Lady Helmgrim frowned thoughtfully. "Your analysis doesn't go quite far enough, my son. As Lord Randgrith, Belegor represents the entire House in matters of honor. In exile as we are, we have no real position in the power hierarchy of the lands which are now our homes. Our entire fortune, in all the senses of the word, rest upon our trading endeavors. We've done surprisingly well," she acknowledged, "primarily because House Randgrith has a reputation for strictly abiding by our contracts, and for fairness. And not least, because we have a reputation for punishing those who attack us, and for solidarity. Our trading partners feel safer dealing with us because of these things." She paused and looked around at them all to make sure they were following her. She seemed satisfied by the round of nodding that her comments inspired.
"If it becomes known that Belegor has been dealing with demons, and with Shadowkin, and has participated in attacking other members of his own House; the resulting damage to the House's reputation could be disasterous. Not only will his own trade ventures suffer, but so will all of those of the other family Lines as well. We are strong, but it is a strength based upon being House Randgrith. Belegor could take that away from the whole House." Here Lady Helmgrim paused, considering. A hint of that steel Jack had earlier glimpsed entered her voice as she continued. "Belegor must be brought down, his plans distrupted, and his alliances broken," she said without a hint of yielding. "And it must be done by the House itself. Nothing else will salvage the Randgrith honor. Any cost, any sacrifice is justified, as long as it is seen that the House will preserve its own honor. Even," she asserted firmly, "if the result is the end of the family Lines in Caernadruin."
Jack had leaned forward as she made this statement, fascinated by the woman thus revealed. Lady Hemlgrim broke the silence left by her statements with a sigh as she sat back in her chair and said contemplatively, "I don't think it will come to that." An almost audible relief swept around the table. She had effectively wrapped them all in the visions conjured by her words. "It is still true," she said sharply. They nodded again. "But you do have a few angles to work with."
"Angles?" Caradoc prompted.
"I've met Baron Targellin," Lady Helmgrim said. "I think he'd be very interested in this demon cult you describe. He's a practical man; he'd understand the need of the House to perform the rescue of One-eye. We'd leave Belegor out of it for now, of course," she said matter-of-factly. "The Blood Lineal can deal with him, though it will help if we can get the Baron to bear witness to Belegor's complicity. Evidence from a neutral third-party would be acceptable even to the old conservatives. The Baron has no reason to offend us, and several reasons not too. What do you think, Niall?" she asked Brother Hendrake. "The Baron is your friend."
Brother Hendrake smiled at our surprise, and explained, "We play shah once a week." He walked over to the table from his place by the door. "I think you may be right, Diana. Maerk Targellin has found House Randgrith useful in the past. We have family Lines in so many different lands that he gets fresh news of those places, and we've carried messages or messengers for him. He trusts us because he knows that we do the same for our other host countries, and because we've never tried to take advantage." He thought for a moment. "Besides, Osiric, Maerk's asked me a couple of times about rumors of a demon cult. There have evidently been problems that he attributes to them. If you can lead him to the cult, I think he'll give you a great deal of leeway in other matters. I could go with you," he offered Osiric.
Osiric looked at his mother and his uncle. "You think I should tell him about One-eye, then?" Lady Diana nodded, but Brother Hendrake gestured to indicate that it was Osiric's decision. Osiric turned to the rest of us. "What do you think about this suggestion?"
Jack kept his silence through the ensuing chorus of concerns. Caradoc was concerned about the Baron not allowing us to rescue One-eye, a concern that Goblin seemed to share. Varth was concerned that the Baron's involvement might help Belegor. Hannabryn raised the issue of whether recent past events might color the Baron's willingness to trust us. An hour later the debate was still going, though there were few new arguments. The choices seemed to be: try to enlist the Baron's approval and assistance, or attempt to keep the Baron in the dark and face the consequences of the rescue attempt afterward. Jack had stayed out of the argument almost entirely.
A silence fell as Osiric raised his hand. The Randgrith lord looked at Jack gravely. "Jack," he said. "You've been very quiet. Don't you have anything to say?"
"It is ultimately your decision, Osiric," Jack replied. "And we'll all support you either way."
"Not good enough, Jack," he chided. "I want to know what you think."
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Tuesday, April 29, 2008
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Current mood:  thirsty
Category: Writing and Poetry
A quiet knock on the door interrupted Lady Helmgrim and she paused for Brother Hendrake to answer it. Jack had only met Brother Hendrake this morning, and he had learned that the name was no coincidence. Brother Hendrake was Osiric's uncle on the Hendrake side, and he had been Osiric's instructor in the Teinne Doigh. Brother Hendrake had given up his name and place in the family to dedicate himself to philosophical and fighting arts. None-the-less, he was brother to Osiric's father, and trusted by both Lady Helmgrim and Osiric himself as few others were.
It was mid-morning, and they had been having a discussion of the preparations necessary for Osiric's quest. Lady Helmgrim had not yet told Osiric exactly where they were going. Jack had the feeling that she was still trying to determine if he was trustworthy. Brother Hendrake had accepted Jack much more quickly -- Teinne Doigh made one more sensitive to certain kinds of things, and from what Osiric said, Brother Hendrake was well advanced. Jack knew a true adept could perceive Jack's loyalty in his voice and body language -- if he could not read it directly from Jack's aura. Jack had heard that such things were possible.
Brother Hendrake let a household servant in, who hurried over to Osiric.
"Your servant would like to speak to you," he said with a strange look toward the hallway. "The girl Hannabryn, I mean."
Osiric shot a look at his mother and said, "Then bring her in."
"She'd rather speak to you privately," the man said as he swallowed. "She's been hurt."
Osiric eyes widened with concern as he promptly started for the door with the obvious intention of going to Hannabryn. Jack was there at Osiric's request, and felt it would have been presumptuous to remain with Lady Helmgrim as though he were her equal. As a result, Jack was at Osiric's heels as the Randgrith lord went into the hallway.
Hannabryn was leaning against the wall in obvious pain. Her face and arms were bloodied and bruised, with long swollen cuts in more than a few places. She was hunched over as though her ribs hurt, and she was breathing with difficulty. Jack's hands began to curl as though around dagger hilts, but he held himself to silence. Hannabryn looked at Osiric and pride forced her to draw herself up as he spoke.
"What happened?" Osiric asked with a shocked look as he took her arm.
"Isobella and two men caught me in the stable. The two men held me while she beat me with a riding crop," Hannabryn replied weakly. Bitterly she continued, "She said I needed to learn to keep out of the business of my betters. It would have been worse, but one of the grooms came in and helped me fight them off. The groom wounded one of the men in the arm with a pitchfork, and they ran. Isobella had already gone."
By this time Jack was in the grip of a full, cold Rage. He turned precisely on his heel and started down the hall as Osiric started to ask questions. Jack ran up the stairs at full speed, and when he reached the room that was Varth's he pounded on the door. It was only moments before the door was opened to show Varth holding his rapier.
"What is it, Jack!" he said in alarm.
"Hannabryn's been attacked by Isobella and two men. I'm going after them. Do you want to join me?" Jack asked quietly.
"Attacked," Varth muttered as he jerked on his tunic. "You know I'm with you," he continued as he settled his weapon belt into place.
As Varth pulled on his boots, Jack went down the hall to pound on another door. This door swung open to show a bleary eyed Caradoc. Jack repeated the statement he'd made to Varth.
Caradoc's eyes sharpened at Jack's words as he said with a grin, "Thank you for asking." He gathered up his bow and his jacket and grabbed for his sword belt as Jack turned toward the stairs once again.
"I'll ready the horses," Jack said as Varth hobbled out into the hall. "Join me at the stable." Caradoc nodded.
Jack had no doubt that he would get into trouble over this -- he hadn't waited for his lord's command, after all. Jack didn't care. Any concern for consequences was still and cold beneath the ice that was Jack's Rage.
Jack pulled his steed to a halt and watched the two men scrambling across the muddy field. They had seen the three Randgrith warriors galloping down the road and had fled. One of the men was clutching his arm with a bloodied hand. Jack looked easily about, but there was no sign of the dark Isobella.
"Varth," Jack said in a calm and quiet voice. His horse shuddered at the sound.
"Yes?" Varth responded in an equally deadly tone.
"Kill these two men, then catch up to us."
"Yes."
Caradoc and Jack galloped on toward the streets of Caernadruin as Varth started his horse across the field. Jack had dismissed the two men from his mind. They would later be found, each with a single narrow sword wound running completely through his body.
The streets were thronged with people doing their mid-morning business, forcing them to slow. Jack and Caradoc scanned the crowd carefully for any sign of Isobella, but didn't see her. Caradoc chafed at the delay as they pressed on toward the Grandrith manor in case Isobella might seek shelter there. After some minutes, they sighted the front gate of the Grandrith Manor grounds, and rode up to the guards positioned there. There was no sign of Isobella as Jack and Caradoc reigned in their horses.
"Have you seen the woman Isobella?" Jack asked quietly as he gazed at the grounds of the manor.
The guard on the right sneered and responded, "Who wants to know?"
Jack looked at him for the first time and recognized him as one of Belegor's guards from the party. This is not my target, said the Rage inside me. I will not kill him yet. But Jack dismounted and went to stand easily before the guard. His body was still except for the most minimum movements necessary. No nervous gestures or wasted energy betrayed the Rage within him.
"I am Jack Spryte, vassal to Lord Osiric Hendrake. Isobella assaulted a woman in Lord Hendrake's employ on the grounds of the Helmgirm manor just a brief time ago." Jack responded in the same even tones of his previous words. Then his voice became quieter still as he asked, "Has the woman Isobella returned here?"
"She's not here, dog!" the guard spat at Jack. "Why don't you crawl back into your kennel and stop defiling the home of your betters!"
Jack heard the creak of a bowstring behind him as he jerked one knee up and sent his foot into the cleft of the guard's legs. A meaty smack resounded as the man's feet left the ground. He crumpled whimpering to the dust to lie curled around the pain. Jack turned to the other guard, who stood wary and unmoving beneath Caradoc's drawn arrow.
Stepping up to the other guard, Jack asked again, "Has the woman Isobella returned here?"
The young man shot a glance at his companion and swallowed. "If I tell you she's not here, are you going to kick me too?" he asked cautiously.
Far beneath his Rage, Jack felt a flicker of respect for the youth. "The kick was not for the answer, but for the insult he offered my lord," Jack replied evenly. "You do not intend to offer me insult, do you?"
The young guardsman shook his head quickly, then said, "Isobella rode out this morning and hasn't been back, I swear."
A moment passed as Jack considered, then said, "Tell your master this. The woman Isobella has committed a crime. If she returns here he should turn her over to the magistrate. If I find out that he has harbored her, I will make sure that he regrets it."
The young man's face went paler still as he heard Jack's message. "If there is a warrant for her, I am sure that Lord Belegor will do his duty."
Jack simply gazed at him for a moment while considering ways to hurt him. Then Jack replied, "There will be a warrant sworn out within the hour, I assure you. If your lord harbors this woman and later claims not to have gotten my message, I will come looking for you instead." Jack could understand that the guard didn't want to deliver a threat to his lord -- it would be a good way to cut his career short if his lord wasn't extremely understanding. Jack simply didn't care. He intended that his message be delivered.
Jack turned and remounted my horse. As he settled back into the saddle, Caradoc asked, "What are you going to do?"
"I'll go back along the streets and look for her," Jack answered. "She can't have vanished completely."
"Then I think I shall go and have a talk with Belegor," Caradoc said grimly. "I will deliver your message myself to make sure he takes it seriously." The young guard almost fainted with relief. This meant that he could keep his job. "I don't think this will take long. I will join you in a few minutes."
Jack nodded curtly and wheeled his horse around as Caradoc motioned for the guard to open the gate. As Jack rode back into the cobblestone streets, Caradoc rode his horse to the doors of Grandrith Manor. Varth should be in sight by now, Jack thought to himself -- perhaps he had found her. Urging his horse to the top speed possible in the crowded streets, Jack moved quickly back the way they had come. His eyes scanned ahead for any unusual disturbance in the flow of the crowd, so he was still some distance away when Jack noticed an area of street that was nearly clear of people. Only a few figures were to be seen in the center of the street as the bystanders rushed away. Jack kicked his horse into a gallop as he recognized Varth in the center of that group, surrounded by five men.
Varth's left arm was hanging oddly, as though something was wrong with it. He swung his rapier in short, deadly arcs as he fended off his attackers. He was at an unusual disadvantage -- they had left the manor so quickly that none of them had taken the time to put on even basic leather jacks. Varth's opponents, however, were wearing full leather armor. A cut in Varth's jerkin showed blood, though he still stood and fought. Varth saw Jack galloping toward him and began to retreat, no longer attempting to harm his attackers, simply trying to keep their blades from him until Jack could get close enough to help.
As Jack galloped, he pulled his shotgun from its boot. Jack hadn't brought armor, but habit had hung the shotgun on the saddle as he saddled his horse. Jack had closed about half of the distance and was still ahorse -- no small challenge in these streets -- as he cocked back both hammers.
"Down!" Jack shouted the single word in the Pictish tongue. Varth was the only one to respond to the shout. Jack wasn't sure if Varth had understood the crude Pictish, or whether long association had taught the young assassin to duck when Jack had a shotgun pointed. In either case, Varth immediately launched himself in a long, low dive to the side which carried him out of the reach of his opponents' weapons. As Varth hit the ground and covered his head with his arms, Jack fired the first barrel of the shotgun at the still standing figures of Varth's attackers. The spray of lead fell among them like retribution, and three of the men fell. As the other two turned in response, Jack loosed the second barrel at them. One of the two caught a load of shot in his chest and face and fell backwards to lie sightless and unmoving in the street. The other man was struck only a glancing blow by the hail of pellets, but it was enough to send him spinning to the ground. As he struggled to rise it was apparent that one arm was ruined and useless.
Jack was preparing to ride the wounded man down when he noticed another man standing in the doorway of a nearby shop. Jack's Rage had been checking the surroundings for additional threats, and it seemed odd for a bystander to remain in a doorway when battle is occurring -- particularly when a shotgun is being fired. Jack pulled at the reigns and dragged his horse to a halt in the open space before the shop. The doorway was now empty, but something tickled the back of Jack's mind - something had seemed familiar about that figure.
Jack left the last of Varth's attackers for him to deal with, since the odds were now more than even. Leaving horse and shotgun outside, Jack pushed his way carefully into the shop. A few people were pressed against the walls, but none matched the figure Jack had briefly seen. He moved toward the back of the shop, thinking that the figure might have escaped through the alley. But no, the man waited in the doorway to the alley, and this time the light fell full on his face. Jack knew that face -- he had put a shotgun to it. It was the mysterious Kalladen. Jack's Rage murmured quietly to itself. Perhaps he was in league with the woman Isobella. I would have to ask him a few questions. Jack started for Kalladen, who turned and dashed out into the alley way. Jack followed quickly, and once out into the space between the buildings, Kalladen could not outrun him. Jack caught the strange servant in a flying tackle which took them both to the ground.
An odd, grappling fight ensued. Jack did not want to hurt Kalladen, just render him captive. Kalladen, on the other hand, appeared not to want to hurt Jack, but did not wish to be captured either. He broke every hold Jack attempted with apparent ease, yet did not strike back. Jack's Rage did not intend to be thwarted again so easily, however. Jack rolled away and to his feet. Kalladen regained his feet even more quickly than Jack, but froze warily as he gazed down the barrel of Jack's horse pistol. Mere feet separated them, and Jack did not think he could miss at this range.
"What know you of the woman Isobella," Jack asked with deceptive gentleness.
"Little, save that she serves Lord Belegor Grandrith," Kalladen responded with a puzzled frown.
"And have you seen her lately? Today, perhaps?" Jack asked with little inflection - as though asking about the weather. Jack was still operating under the assumption that Varth's attackers had been Isobella's hirelings.
"No. I've never met her," Kalladen replied in growing confusion. "Why do you ask?"
He's telling the truth, my Rage thought to itself. I can sense it. The attack must not have been hers. The woman is gone, then, beyond my reach for now. But there will come a time...
My Rage coiled itself and drained away to that dark place in the bottom of my mind where it lived. Until next time, then, it whispered sweetly to me as it left.
Honor and normal anger rushed in to fill the cold, hollow void left by Rage.
"I had thought that Varth was attacked by Isobella's hirelings," Jack responded to Kalladen's question. "What are you doing here, then?" he asked as his knuckles grew white on the grip of my pistol. "Did you have anything to do with that?" Jack tilted his head in the direction of the street where Varth had been under attack.
Kalladen was puzzled by the change in Jack's demeanor, and knocked off his stride. "Put away the pistol, and we can talk," he replied firmly.
Jack didn't sense any hostility from Kalladen, and had questions he wanted answered; he put the pistol in his belt. Jack was very fast, and thought he could pull the pistol out before Kalladen could run.
"I set up the attack," Kalladen said after Jack had put his hands down. He raised his hands placatingly, "After the happenings on the road, I was afraid that you and your friends might still be after me."
Jack nodded. "Somewhat egotistical, since we certainly have more important things to worry about," he smiled coldly, "but I can see why you might have had concerns."
"I wanted to talk to you," Kalladen continued. "That's why I waited in the shop. I wanted a chance to explain myself. I am trying to find One-eye, but I can't do it alone. I'm sure that One-eye is being held by Belegor and his mage Varzini. You'll need my help if you want to find him," he finished. Solemnly as though speaking an oath, he said, "I mean you and yours no harm."
Jack could sense again that Kalladen was telling the truth. Jack did want to find One-eye; the mage was Goblin's brother and a Randgrith, not to mention a friend of Jack's.
"All right," Jack said cautiously. "I'll give you a chance to explain. Varth and Caradoc will be here soon," Jack said as he noticed that some minutes had passed. "Let's meet somewhere."
Kalladen looked carefully around. "It will have to be at night. Just you and Lord Osiric, no one else!" he stressed.
Jack nodded. Time to test Kalladen's resolve. "Very well. Tonight, at the Helmgrim manor at moonset." That would put him on Randgrith territory; Kalladen would know that Jack could set up an ambush if he wanted. The assassin would have to trust Jack if he wanted Jack's trust in return. "I have a room on the ground floor. I'll burn a candle until just before moonset, then open the window and extinguish the candle. Come to my room, and I'll lead you to the meeting with Osiric." Jack would be honor bound by these words if Kalladen agreed, but he wondered if Kalladen would believe that enough to put himself in Jack's hands.
To Jack's surprise, Kalladen nodded and said, "Agreed. Keep everyone else away, though," he warned.
Jack nodded. "Fine. Go." Jack turned to re-enter the shop. If Kalladen was going to jump him, now would be the time. Kalladen simply started walking away. Jack walked back through the shop to encounter Caradoc and Varth who had just started to look for him.
"Did you get him?" Varth asked eagerly.
Jack shook his head. "He got away. How are you doing?" Varth didn't look exactly well. Jack led the way out to his horse and started pulling bandages from the saddlebags.
Varth shrugged. "I've been worse." But then he grudgingly admitted, "But I've been better, too."
"There were two shadowkin in that bunch, Jack," Caradoc put in. "Where would Isobella have been able to get shadowkin on this short notice?"
Jack hid his shock, occupying himself with bandaging Varth. Jack couldn't tell his friends that Isobella hadn't hired the attackers, but he suddenly regretted letting Kalladen go. "I don't know, Caradoc," Jack returned finally. It had occurred to him that the attackers must have been waiting for them. They had come riding in too quickly for Varth to have been a target of opportunity. It seemed odd that shadowkin assassins had let Caradoc and I pass, but attacked Varth. Almost as if he was their real target. Kalladen hadn't mentioned that little detail. Jack began to really hope Kalladen would actually show up that night.
Just a few minutes after Jack finished patching up Varth the city watch arrived. Varth had been hurt more than he wanted to admit, and he badly needed some rest. The incident was a clear case of self defense, and after questioning a few witnesses, the guard sergeant let the three Randgrith go without any trouble. As they set their horses back on the road to the Helmgrim manor, Jack mulled over the day's events. He could still feel Rage coiled within him; it would take days of meditation to render it fully quiescent once more. Kalladen had been fortunate – Jack's Rage had nearly turned on him. And it still might.
The moon's last light had fled from the wind swept darkness a few minutes before, leaving Jack's room ever more shrouded in darkness. His breathing tuned to the wind sighing through the window, Jack sensed a movement outside the walls of the house. A silent figure slipped over the sill to stand motionless before him. Jack's breathing did not change, and he did not move from his seat on the floor. Jack gazed steadily at his visitor, though he couldn't make out any features because the ephemeral starlight filtering through the window fell only on the intruder's back. Still silent, the dark figure began divesting itself of its weapons. At that, Jack held up his hand and spoke. "Keep your weapons." Standing with a musical rustle of chain mail, he held out his arms. "I am not armed, but Lord Osiric will be. You will have to go through me to get to him, but he will have to do the same to get to you." With a quiet and steady voice Jack continued, "If any treachery occurs on either side, I will be the first to die. That is your surety. However, you will be the second to die, and that is mine."
Kalladen paused, then slid his narrow sword back into its sheath with a nod. "Let it be so, then," he said gravely.
Jack simply shrugged. He would take many chances with his own life, but not with Osiric's. Kalladen had set the terms of this meeting - that it be only Osiric and Jack, at night, and private. Jack had agreed, and was bound by that. Osiric had been curious enough to agree also, and thus was bound by Jack's word given on his behalf. But that didn't mean that he wouldn't make it as safe as possible for Osiric.
Jack led the way carefully through the stillness of the house to a downstairs study where Osiric waited. He was careful to avoid both guards and servants. It would not do for Kalladen to be discovered by Jack's friends, since he was fairly certain they would kill first and ask questions later. Questions Jack wanted the man alive to give answers to. They needed some information Jack thought Kalladen could give them. Kalladen had said in the alley that Belegor's mage Varsini held One-eye captive, and Jack had warned Goblin of that earlier at dinner. If they were to find and free One-eye, they needed more information.
The door swung open beneath Jack's hand and he stepped through, with Kalladen close behind. After the door was shut but not locked, Jack stepped to where Kalladen faced Osiric down the length of a long table. Osiric held his shotgun steadily trained on Kalladen's chest as light from the candles glittered off the polished metal plates of Osiric's armor. Having come this far, Kalladen didn't seem quite sure how to start.
Jack didn't have that problem. "First, I have a few questions I'd like answered," he began as he rested his palms on the table. Jack's breathing was still centered, and he thought that he'd be able to tell if Kalladen lied.
"That's why I'm here," Kalladen replied. "I want to clear the air about everything." He glanced at Osiric, then turned back to face Jack. "I want you to tell your friends. I don't want any problems if they find out about this information later and think I have been hiding it."
Warned by this that his fears might be correct, Jack plunged right in. "Fine," he said with steel in his voice. "How did you find the two shadowkin who attacked Varth in the market today?"
Kalladen took a deep breath and let it sigh out. "Because I used to be one."
Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. With his eyes still closed he repeated, "You used to be shadowkin?"
Kalladen replied simply, "Yes." Jack's hands twitched on the table.
Jack could tell that he was telling the truth. Damn. Varth wouldn't like this at all, and Jack wouldn't blame him; Jack didn't like it himself. Probably the smartest thing to do would be to kill Kalladen now.
Jack opened his eyes and looked at Osiric. The Randgrith lord seemed to be holding judgement. He was leaving it up to Jack, then, though the barrel of the shotgun never wavered from the center of the ex-shadowkin's chest. Jack looked back at Kalladen, who had the grace to look uncomfortable. Kalladen wouldn't meet Jack's eye, and Jack had a sinking feeling that it would get worse before it got better.
Jack dropped the next question into the silence where it coiled like a snake waiting to strike. "Why did they only go after Varth?" His voice was quiet and emotionless this time, and he felt his Rage waiting patiently for the answer. Jack could see Osiric tense in reaction to the tone – Osiric knew Jack well enough to recognize the danger signs.
Kalladen could see the snake as well as Jack, and he paused before answering. He watched Jack warily as he carefully replied, "I went there to help him." The ex-shadowkin paused, but Jack did not respond. He continued reluctantly, "It was set up while we were still on the road. I refused to follow my orders concerning Varth, but I had reported his presence before I reached that decision."
"And your orders concerning him were?"
"To kill him." This was the moment Kalladen expected Jack to attack if he was going to. In one respect he was right - Jack would decide soon whether the ex-shadowkin would die tonight. But Kalladen didn't know Jack well enough to realize that if Jack decided to kill him, it wouldn't be now. The questioning would continue, moving gradually away from sensitive topics. Once they were well out of emotionally charged issues and into the process of negotiation, that's when Jack would kill him. He could almost see it. Cold Rage welled up just beyond the stillness of Jack's sean-aoidh meditation.
After a moment, Jack raised one eyebrow and commented, "I didn't realize you could just quit being shadowkin. Isn't that frowned upon?"
Kalladen's tension eased as he shrugged wearily. "That's part of the problem. I am constantly hiding from them. I haven't really had time to look for One-eye." He relaxed further as he continued, "You see, I was assigned to watch One-eye. The Shadowkin were hired by Belegor to get close to One-eye and report on what he was researching. It was not a hit - I was only to watch and report directly to Belegor. That's unusual, by the way, since normally we don't even know the client's name. One-eye is a philosopher," he mused. "He made me think about who and what I am. Made me take a good look at myself, and I decided that the view was not particularly pleasant. I didn't really make the decision to leave the Brotherhood until One-eye disappeared."
"Who were you talking to that night I questioned you?" Jack asked casually. He wasn't quite ready to discuss the supposed causes of his alleged defection from the legendary brotherhood of assassins. Kalladen's offhand comments about clients and hits just left him cold.
Kalladen looked at Jack suspiciously as though wondering if the snake was still there. "I was talking to Vonkar, Warlord of the shadowkin. He's the one who gave me my orders. I had to report to him. I didn't want him to know my decision to quit until I was ready."
Jack just nodded. "You used the cards to communicate?" he continued questioning.
"Yes," Kalladen replied. "The cards can only be created by a mage who is also a master artist. The mage must draw a likeness of a person, then enchant it with something of that person's essence. It requires a great deal of power to create the card, but once created, anyone who knows how can use it. You concentrate on the picture and focus your mind to contact that individual. If you can convince yourself that it is possible, you can actually contact the person shown. Once in contact, you can even travel to their location through the card. All the higher level shadowkin have a card made of them by Yvgeno, the current Cardmaster. Yvgeno is an abomination, a shadowkin who is also a mage. Vonkhar is the warrior figure in the cards you took from me," Kalladen continued somewhat accusingly. "Yvgeno is the wizard figure."
"I didn't take anything from you," Jack responded absently. "Is it possible to block the cards?" Obviously it was - Goblin had been unable to contact One-eye. But perhaps if they knew how, they might be able to find a way around it.
"It is possible to block the communication," Kalladen tiredly acknowledged. "I have been doing so. But it is difficult." He seemed uncomfortable with that subject, and Jack knew that there was something the ex-shadowkin didn't want to tell them. He decided to pursue it later.
"Fine. We know One-eye is shown on one of the cards. Who are the other cards of?" Actually, Osiric had already recognized another of the people shown - a Princess of Rheged that he had seen at a court function once. It would give a way to check any information Kalladen gave about the cards.
Kalladen said "One is Princess Moriana ap Morgon of Rheged - there's a contract out on her that I was to complete in a few months. By the way, we - I mean they - don't use the cards to perform assassinations. They are only used to gather information and to communicate back and forth." Jack just waited for the rest. Reluctantly, Kalladen continued, "The last card is one I had made some time ago. It depicts my brother's home. I use it to go visit him." That was the card Osiric had been playing with. Jack was glad he hadn't done more than just look.
Jack traded glances with Osiric. He was going to want to warn the Princess, Jack knew. Jack said, "Perhaps you can contact her through the card." Osiric nodded.
But Jack wasn't done asking hard questions, nor was he ready to trust Kalladen, so he pushed on. "Why are you telling us this? What do you want?"
"One-eye is my friend," Kalladen said quietly. "Probably the first ever. I want to free him. I don't need you at all, but I do need the card with his portrait to find him."
Well. Kalladen certainly had a high opinion of himself - it remained to be seen if it was justified. Somehow Jack didn't think Belegor was completely without resources. He did, after all, have a mage in his service. Which made Jack think. "Just how will the card enable you to find One-eye? I understand that Goblin attempted to contact his brother through the card and was unable to. The communication is blocked somehow." Jack had the most rudimentary understanding of the philosophy behind modern magery.
"That's what I was working on when I lost the cards," Kalladen accused. Jack shrugged unconcernedly. "I am sure I could work out the method in just a little while. It's like following an echo, sort of. I think anyone who is really familiar with the use of the cards could figure it out eventually. But it would require someone who is familiar with their use," he stressed.
Actually Jack thought that Goblin would have a better chance of using the cards to find One-eye than Kalladen. For all his little foibles, Goblin is an expert mage.
"Would you be willing to work with Goblin on locating One-eye?" Osiric asked, speaking for the first time.
Kalladen seemed to realize that he didn't have much choice. He knew they weren't going to just give him One-eye's card. Nodding resignedly he responded, "Yes. I don't know any other way to find him."
"Good. Then you and Goblin can work on finding One-eye tomorrow. Jack will help," Osiric said, though it was obvious that what he meant was 'Jack will keep an eye on you'. Kalladen just nodded. He didn't seem too worried about Jack. Excellent.
Kalladen's nodding continued, and his eyes rolled back in his head. What the hell was this? He started to shudder, and began to slump toward the floor. Reaching forward, Jack grabbed at him, slipping his hands around the hilts of the ex-shadowkin's weapons. As the man fell, Jack pulled his short sword and dagger from their sheaths and stepped back toward Osiric. Now Jack was armed again. As they stared at Kalladen lying unmoving on the floor, a golden glow began in the space between Kalladen and the door to the hall. Osiric cursed. Jack just stared as Rage swelled beneath his sean-aoidh calm.
The glow solidified into a large rectangle in the middle of the room, and the center of the rectangle slowly started to clear. It was obviously some sort of doorway to somewhere else, and Jack didn't think it likely that whoever came out would be friendly. As the doorway cleared, they could see that there were men clustered on the other side. Dressed in dark clothing and leather armor, and armed with short swords and daggers, they appeared to be assassins. The conclusion was obvious. Shadowkin.
Jack tucked Kalladen's short sword in his belt and reached out to pull Osiric's revolver from his baldric. He moved toward the glowing door just as three of the men slipped through it. Their flowing movements and fine control spoke of a level of skill he couldn't hope to equal, and coldness gathered in his belly. He had to keep them from Osiric.
"There's the traitorous bastard!" one of the men exclaimed as he sighted Kalladen's still form.
"Secure the room!" snapped another of the three just as Jack jerked up Osiric's pistol and fired it at the third man's face. The hair lifted on the back side of the shadowkin's head as Jack blew his brains back through the glowing portal.
Even as the man Jack had shot was falling, Jack turned to aim at the second man, but he was far too slow. With a speed and grace Jack had never encountered before, the man leaped toward him and grasped his arm. Suddenly Jack was embroiled in a frenzied struggle for the pistol which was his only advantage. Jack was completely on the defensive; only the utmost determination allowed him to hang on to the pistol at all, as his opponent responded to every gambit with preternatural awareness. With a desperate twist Jack slashed his knife at the assassin's unprotected neck. The shadowkin knocked the blow away with contemptuous ease, but at least Jack had distracted him from the gun. Behind the shadowkin, Jack could see more men coming through the glowing portal.
Osiric flipped the table over to lie on Kalladen, shielding the ex-shadowkin from his enemies. Osiric had still not fired the shotgun he held, for fear of catching Jack in its fire. As Jack gathered his breath to shout at Osiric to fire, the shotgun boomed as if Osiric had read his mind, sending one of the assassins spinning into a bookcase. Osiric had been over-careful to avoid hitting Jack, and hadn't mortally wounded the man. Another of the assassins ducked as the shotgun boomed again, but was not quick enough. This time Osiric caught the man cleanly in the chest, tossing him backward like a rag doll, with enough shot left over to finish the job Osiric had started on the first assassin. That accounted for three out of what started to seem like an endless flow of shadowkin from the portal. But now both barrels of the shotgun were spent, and Jack was still unable to break away from the man he was wrestling with.
Two of the men began working their way cautiously around the fallen table toward Osiric, and a sudden near panic freed Jack's Rage. As that icy emotion gripped him Jack could feel his concentration narrow suddenly to a pinpoint, focused on the man who prevented him from protecting his lord. In sudden crystal clarity Jack's sean-aoidh pulsed within him. Now, whispered Rage in exaltation. Jack's body moved as if it were dancing alone, and his foot flashed out in a Teinne Doigh kick to the ribs of his assailant, who still held Jack's arm in an iron grip. As the foot connected, Rage and sean-aoidh combined to flow through Jack's leg and enter the assassin's body with a violent tearing sound. The man flew backward as if catapulted into one of his companions, sending both of them crashing into the wall. Blood gushed from the surprised assassin's mouth as he fell to the floor with his ribs caved in.
The assassin who had been trying to flank Jack froze suddenly in surprise, and Jack took advantage of his distraction to turn and shout to Osiric. As Jack got Osiric's attention, he tossed the revolver back to the Randgrith lord, who snatched the weapon smoothly out of the air and turned toward the two assassins who were now but paces away. Jack heard a noise behind him and twisted quickly to the side, avoiding the kick from the man at his back. Jack slashed out with his dagger as he turned, forcing the assassin to retreat momentarily. Facing the man once again, Jack yanked Kalladen's short sword from his belt. He heard the crack of the revolver behind him, accompanied by a grunt of pain. Jack knew that Osiric had killed yet another of the assasins.
Jack had noticed one thing during the fighting. These shadowkin might be better skilled, but Jack actually had the edge in raw speed. He might be able to use that to his advantage. Readying himself for a last-ditch all-out attack, Jack prepared to charge the man he faced. A hoarse screaming startled them both, as one of the other shadowkin began flailing about with his arms. As the flailing man turned, Jack could see a dagger wreathed about with flame buried in his back. He was staggering about trying to reach the hilt projecting from his shoulders. Jack and his opponent both jumped back as the screaming man stumbled between them.
Jack ducked again as the one outside window to this room shattered into millions of tiny shards as something came hurtling through it. A sly and malicious voice began shouting curses at the shadowkin - a voice Jack knew well. Goblin's curses changed to shouted words of power, which grew into a thunderous noise. With a terrific crash, the glowing golden portal collapsed into a fiery web of golden lightning, than vanished in a blinding flash of light. At last, the stream of assasins had finally stopped. Jack had been half expecting the fireworks, because he knew Goblin, but even so he was half blinded by the pyrotechnics.
As Jack's watering eyes began to clear, he saw Captain Angrenbor, Caradoc, and... Hannabryn? Yes, Hannabryn, looking like death warmed over but carrying two more flaming daggers. They were charging through the doorway along with a couple of the house guards. It appeared that Randgrith reinforcements had arrived. And just about the time that the shadowkin's reinforcements were cancelled. Tsk, tsk.
Casting aside his previous plan, Jack drew back into a completely defensive fighting stance as his opponent recovered from the distractions and started toward him once again. If Jack could just hold the assasin here, that would mean that the ones behind him couldn't get past Jack either, and they had nowhere else to go. Jack blocked the assassin's first thrust with a short chopping motion, recovering immediately to slash his dagger at the shadowkin's face - it was little more than a feint, but it forced the assasin to raise his blade to block it. All Jack had to do was keep this one pinned down as other better fighters killed his companions.
Jack cast a quick glance at Osiric, and was relieved to find him alive and well. The man Osiric had shot moments ago was now pinned to the wall with an arrow through his throat that practically screamed Caradoc was here. The other assasin was rapidly being closed on by Goblin and a sprinting Varth who had just dashed through the hall door at full speed.
Jack's opponent thought to take advantage of Jack's divided attention and leaped forward with a blurring overhand cut. Jack lifted the borrowed short sword and met the assassin's blade head on with a rising block. A shock ran down Jack's arm as the two blades met with a clang, and the force of the blow sent the assassin staggering back. With a lunge of his own, Jack thrust his dagger at the assassin who was trying to recover his balance. The shadowkin gave a desperate jerk that turned him enough that Jack's blade merely scored along his leather jerkin. Damn, but these guys were good. Jack had taught the assassin caution, at least, he thought with smug satisfaction as the shadowkin advanced again more slowly than before.
The remaining shadowkin had been engaged by Angrenbor, Hannabryn, and two of the house guards. Caradoc stood by the door looking for something else to shoot at, since he had already killed the last shadowkin to come through the glowing portal. The assassin facing Jack had his back to Caradoc, but Caradoc refused to shoot. At this range the shadowkin's body would barely slow the arrow, and Jack was in the direct line of fire.
Jack heard Varth hiss "Shadowkin..." from behind him. Varth had just realized that their foes were his avowed enemies. Jack hoped that Varth would not lose himself in his anger. Jack had seen that only once, when Varth had gone to the defense of a woman being attacked by a gang of drunken men. Oblivious to both cuts and pain, Varth had spun amongst them like a whirlwind of steel. Only after the last of the attackers had fallen did Varth return to himself. Jack had seen his like before. Berserkers, they are called. And sometimes they cannot properly distinguish friend from foe when in the grip of their battle madness.
Jack had to focus on his own opponent, though, so Varth would have to deal with his anger as he could. Jack's opponent was getting more and more frustrated and afraid. The man was having a hard time figuring out how to get through Jack's conservative defenses. The two shadowkin that had been behind him were still alive, but were no longer trying to get past. One was fighting Angrenbor and losing - Ironfist wasn't even breathing hard. The last Shadowkin was stalking Hannabryn. Jack watched helplessly as a young house guardsman stepped up to the shadowkin with his sword. The guardsman was cut down before he even got a chance to swing. Hannabryn was backed into a corner with a look of fearful determination and two flaming daggers in her fists. She made a sudden underhand throw that sent one of the daggers flying at the shadowkin. The whirling flames smacked against his arm, leaving a burned and bleeding cut, but not severely hampering him. But even before the first blade had hit, Hannabryn had the second blade winging through the air. There was a meaty thunk as the flaming dagger sank up to its hilt into the man's abdomen. His sudden choking scream as the flames seared his vitals was music to Jack's ears. He shot a jeering grin at the man facing him, whose face got red with anger. Angrenbor's opponent had just fallen, so Jack's opponent was the last shadowkin alive, and he knew it. Jack could hear Goblin shouting encouragement as the mage and Varth rushed up from behind Jack to flank the lone remaining assassin. The man knew he was about to die, and leaped at Jack in a fatalistic bid to take Jack with him. Jack caught the shadowkin's blades on his for just a moment, which was long enough for Goblin to bury his axe in the man's side. As the assassin fell to his knees, Varth thrust his rapier through the assassin's eye. The point of the weapon burst through the rear of the shadowkin's skull with a hollow popping noise. The man shuddered once and died, sliding slowly off Varth's blade when Goblin yanked out his bloody axe. Varth's blade quested slowly through the air, a flickering tongue of steel smelling for further enemies to slay. Jack watched him carefully, but the madness had passed from Varth this time and he slowly wiped his blade and put it away.
Jack looked around at the carnage. He counted twelve shadowkin bodies, not counting Kalladen, who still lay hidden beneath the overturned table. Varth reached down and jerked an amulet from around the neck of the man we had just killed. Goblin looked suspiciously at Jack then turned to Osiric.
"What is this, my lord?" Goblin asked as he gestured with his dripping axe. "Why were these persons here?"
"They were shadowkin, Goblin," Osiric replied smoothly. "I saw their leader through the portal before you destroyed it. It was the warrior in the cards you have." Goblin nodded agreement. He too had seen, evidently, as he came hurtling through the window. "I fear we have made enemies of them," Osiric started, then halted again. One of the house guards was calling for servants to clean up the mess as Lady Helmgrim entered the room.
"What is this?" she asked in a horrified voice, unwittingly echoing Goblin's words from moments before.
Osiric went over to her and took her hand. "We have been attacked, mother, in our own home. Go back to bed," he urged quietly, "the servants will clean up and we will alert the magistrates in the morning."
Lady Helmgrim reluctantly let Osiric guide her to the door. Her gaze fell on me, and her eyes tightened with suspicion. Jack kept his face expressionless and did not look away as he met her eye. Osiric's mother had a low opinion of Jack, particularly since Lord Belegor had sworn out a complaint against him for beating up one of his guards. Jack had actually turned Belegor's warrant in Osiric's favor by spreading gossip of how Belegor's guards needed him to protect them, instead of the usual way around. It had made Belegor something to joke about in the lower quarters. Eventually it would reach the merchant class and be one stone in the wall Jack was building around Osiric. But the Lady no doubt had Jack figured for some low-bred brawler leading her son astray. If she knew what Jack truly was, then how frightened she would be.
After Lady Helmgrim left, Jack stepped forward before Goblin could speak again. Osiric turned back to the room and Jack said pointedly, "Perhaps you should take everyone next door and explain the situation. I'll help clean up in here and join you shortly." Jack meant, of course, that he would see to Kalladen.
Osiric nodded. "Excellent suggestion, Jack." He waved at the door that led to the next room. "Go on then, my friends. As you can see, we've come across some very interesting information..." The door closed behind Osiric as he herded them all before him, leaving Jack alone in the study with Kalladen and a dozen corpses.
Shaking his head at the irony, Jack pulled the table off of the unconscious Kalladen. Jack grabbed the ex-shadowkin beneath the arms and dragged him to the door opposite the one Osiric had just passed through. This door led to a sitting room that was the mirror image of that where Osiric attempted to reassure their friends. Jack deposited Kalladen in a chair and closed the door. As the unconscious man stirred groggily, Jack sat back and reloaded his shotgun. By the time the ex-shadowkin was fully awake, Jack had the loaded weapon pointed once again at his chest.
"Talk to me, Kalladen. Tell me why a dozen shadowkin lie dead in Osiric's house." Jack's voice was low and menacing. His actions had led to the endangerment of his liege lord's life. Jack didn't like that, and his patience was thin. "And tell my why I should let you live."
Kalladen closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. "They overwhelmed me through the card they have of me," he said wearily. "Several of them must have combined their strengths to overcome my defneses. Yvgeno must have made a gate using the card, and Vonkhar sent his men through the gate to get me. I don't think they had any idea where the gate went - and they probably didn't care. I don't remember anything after Lord Osiric dropped that table on me. What happened?" he asked as he forced his eyes open to stare blearily in Jack's direction.
"I'll tell you later," Jack replied. "I want to check on something." Oddly enough, Jack believed him. This must have been the thing he was hiding before - his vulnerability to this sort of attack. Jack needed to know how much risk we were taking by having Kalladen around, and for that he needed to speak to Goblin. Enough time had passed for Osiric to have convinced their friends not to kill Kalladen themselves. There was only one exit from this sitting room, and that was the door to the larger study.
"Stay here," Jack said quietly. "If you leave this room, I will kill you." Kalladen just closed his eyes.
Jack opened the door to the study and told the servants who were collecting the bodies, "Don't get between me and this door." He walked across the study, keeping his shotgun trained on the room he had just left. Opening the opposite door, Jack looked into an identical sitting room where his companions stood with varying expressions of concern listening to Osiric demand Varth's word that he would not kill Kalladen.
"Six months, my lord," Varth ground out through gritted teeth. "I'll not touch him for six months. After that he dies."
Osiric must have guessed that this was the best he was going to get, and he accepted gracefully. "Very well, Varth. I'll take your word on that." Osiric turned to Jack.
"Jack?" he queried.
"My lord," Jack nodded in response. "A moment, please. Goblin, what are the chances that the mage who made that gate you destroyed will simply recreate it?"
Goblin cocked his head to one side and said with a smile, "I'd be very surprised if that mage can make water right now, much less make a gate. A gate of that type requires considerable magical power to create, and even more to maintain." Goblin shrugged confidently. "The way I destroyed it would have caused a violent backlash when all of the energy of the gate rebounded back to its maker. He won't be able to do serious magery for at least a couple of days. He won't be full strength for weeks."
Jack was relieved. That meant that they need not guard against another such attack tonight, at least. "Lord Osiric, Kalladen waits in the other sitting room. If you'd care to question him further?" As Jack handed Osiric the shotgun, he said in a low voice, "I would like to have a few words with Varth, my lord. I may be able to ease matters."
Forgetting that he still wore the Naugrim plage armor, Osiric slapped Jack on the shoulder in a comradely fashion as he proceeded toward the room where Kalladen waited. As Jack rubbed the bruise left by this gesture of encouragement, he turned to look at Varth.
"You know that little matter of finding out who hired the killing of your parents, Varth?" Jack said confidentially. "As an ex-shadowkin, Kalladen might be the key to finding out. If you kill him," Jack stressed, "we may never find out."
The wild look faded from Varth's eyes to be replaced by something much harder and more implacable. "Yes," he hissed, "aye, then, Jack. He lives, for now. An' he makes a move against one of us, I'll slit him, but not until." Jack had set Varth's hatred for shadowkin against his even greater hatred for the one who had hired them, and his need for revenge. Varth was still tightly wound, as was evident from his return to street dialect, but he'd not lose sight of his purpose.
"If he turns on us," Jack growled back as they crossed the study, "I'll slit him myself."
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Thursday, April 24, 2008
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Current mood:  aggravated
Category: Writing and Poetry
Jack rubbed his eyes and took a drink of water. I'm too tired for this, he thought as he looked around at the revelry. They had finally arrived in Caernadruin in early afternoon. Osiric's mother, the Lady Helmgrim, had insisted on throwing Osiric a welcoming party the same evening. Jack would have preferred to postpone the party a day, but it was not Lady Helmgrim's habit to consult servants in matters such as these. Jack's famous endurance had been worn thin during the last few days of constant alertness. There had been no sign of Kalladen since the shooting of Caradoc's horse. Though Jack was still convinced they'd see the servant again, he felt Osiric was safe here in his mother's house. Jack might be able to get a full night's sleep if the party ever ended.
Jack glanced at the head table, where Osiric and his mother sat, along with Lord Belegor -- head of Line Grandrith and current head of House Randgrith – Belegor's son Caranthor, and a few others. Caradoc had been supposed to sit at that table alongside his cousins, but had offended them all by sitting instead at the servants table with Varth, Hannabryn, and Jack. He sat across the table from Jack eating heartily and laughing at Varth's crude jokes. Caradoc never cared for convention, and he couldn't understand why people would be offended by his choosing to eat amongst friends. One of Caradoc's most appealing traits was his blindness to class distinctions. Lord Belegor, however, was quite conscious of those distinctions, and was doing his best to show that he didn't consider Osiric to be of the noble class. Jack was too far away to hear, but it was clear that Lord Belegor was virtually ignoring Osiric's attempts at conversation. With a skill born of years of political infighting, Belegor snubbed Osiric while remaining just short of outright rudeness. Jack could see Osiric's anger mounting at the older man's slights. It was obvious that Belegor saw Osiric as a potential threat, and neither Osiric nor Jack had much experience at this kind of combat -- where the weapons were words and the wounds were to the opponent's reputation. It was disappointing to realize just how large were the internal divisions House Randgrith must overcome before it could hope to defeat its external enemies. Osiric's courteous self-control never slipped, but as he met Jack's eye from across the room Jack had to look away from Osiric's bitter disappointment in his own family. Osiric's treasured ideals about the Randgrith family honor were taking a beating.
Varth and Caradoc were arguing about some detail of hunting which was beyond Jack -- and he was too tired to be interested right now. Hannabryn seemed similarly bored as she gazed about at the guests. Her glance lingered on some of the wealthier people, and her face took on a look of appraisal. Jack watched curiously as the young woman's sharp eyes assessed each wealthy guest. Some she looked at only briefly, dismissing them quickly, and some she lingered on consideringly. It is a measure of Jack's fatigue that his first thought was that she was considering potential liaisons. Jack's lips started to curve in a smile until he noticed that she hurried to dismiss any guests with bodyguards. Jack's eyes narrowed as he considered Hannabryn's skill at picking locks. As she smiled at one man Jack swung his open hand. Hannabryn's head jerked forward as Jack's callused palm smacked against the back of her skull. Rubbing the back of her head she glared at Jack.
"What the hell was that for?" she demanded.
Jack leaned toward her. "Not here!" he hissed. "You do not steal from guests of Osiric's! Not in his own home!"
"I was just going to get some practice," she protested. "I didn't mean any harm."
"You are in the employ of Lord Osiric Hendrake," Jack said firmly. "What you do reflects on him -- particularly within his presence. We do not embarrass our lord in front of his enemies." Jack nodded at Belegor for emphasis.
He was gratified to see that Hannabryn had not missed the byplay at the head table. Chastened, she nodded and settled back into her seat. Jack could see the young woman evaluating what he had said. Good. She had valuable skills, a ready wit, and courage. Osiric needed people like that in his service.
Jack glanced back at Osiric, who shrugged slightly. The Randgrith lord had confided in Jack earlier that he hoped to be able to get some information from Lord Belegor as to the status of House Randgrith's negotiations with King Conal of Dalarda. From his expression, Jack could guess that Belegor had not been forthcoming. Jack's gaze settled on the man sitting some places down from Belegor -- his son Caranthor. They had been worried that Captain Angrenbor would take up his feud here, at the party, but Ironfist had assured us that he would not dishonor Osiric's hospitality. Jack could feel his lip curl with contempt as he looked at this scion of the Family Grandrith. Caranthor's high opinion of himself was obvious in the way he treated the servants and the members of the merchant class which he had been seated near. His lack of honor reflected poorly on House Randgrith, and said much about the father who even now schemed to place Caranthor as the next head of our House.
Leaning toward Hannabryn again Jack said in a low tone, "How would you like to do me a favor?"
Despite their recent argument, Hannabryn couldn't keep the gleam of interest from her eye. She hesitated for a moment, but finally asked, "What did you have in mind?"
"Well," Jack replied, "I don't think Osiric's having much luck getting information from Lord Belegor. But Caranthor, he fancies himself a ladies man. Would you be willing to talk to him? He might let something slip while he is bragging about himself." Hannabryn was young and attractive, and used to dealing with the advances of men from working in her aunt's inn.
Hannabryn thought for a moment and said, "I can do better than that." She leaned closer and said confidentially, "My aunt taught me a certain magic. I can cast a glamour over him so that he is literally enchanted with me. He'll do almost anything I want."
The young woman blushed as Jack slowly grinned. "I don't mean that! My aunt said that a woman alone sometimes needed such a skill." Hannabryn smiled archly, "Think of it as a natural extension of the womanly wiles." She spoiled the effect by continuing eagerly, "What do you want me to find out?"
Jack flexed his fingers as he thought about it. "I want you to see if Lord Belegor or Family Grandrith are having dealings with the Bevyar; See if Caranthor knows anything about Belegor's negotiations with King Conal of Dalarda; Find out whether the Grandrith have any schemes against Lord Osiric, and any details you can get about such plans." His voice had taken on a formal, lecturing tone, and he looked Hannabryn in the eye to underscore the seriousness of the next point. "Do not mention Osiric's upcoming quest, nor should you mention Goblin's search for his brother One-eye. These are not matters for outsiders to know."
"I understand," Hannabryn said formally, though the twinkle in her eye laughed at Jack. "Is there anything else?"
"Yes," Jack purred as he glanced at Caranthor patting a serving wench's backside as his father snubbed Osiric yet again. "Yes, I think there is. Once you have gotten as much useful information as you feel you can, I want you to encourage young Caranthor to drink." Hannabryn and Jack shared a smile. "It would not displease me if Caranthor were to disgrace himself in public with his drinking. And if he has anything of interest, you have my leave to take it from him -- just do not get caught."
"Wait," Hannabryn protested. "You just told me not to steal here!"
"You do not steal for personal gratification," Jack corrected. "The risks to Osiric's reputation are too great. But there are times when the information that might be gained warrants such actions." He paused, "It's a judgement call, I admit. One you shouldn't make on your own. Osiric bears the honor of two Families, and of House Randgrith. He may not act dishonorably lest he sully the honor of the House -- he would never direct you to do such a thing. I, however, am not of the Blood Lineal, nor of the Blood at all. The Family Spryte does not carry the honor of House Randgrith -- yet we are its sworn guardians. Caranthor and his father may be doing dishonor to the House," Jack said grimly. "I will take whatever measures necessary to determine the truth of that, and to end such dishonor." As usual when tired, Jack had gotten a little carried away.
"You can act dishonorably to protect the honor of the House? Don't you find that a little contradictory, Jack?" It was a good point, but not one Jack felt like debating right now. Perhaps another time when he was less weary.
"You do not know the oaths I bear," Jack said softly. "Both sworn oaths and inherited." His voice was hollow, and he heard the echoes of those oaths in my words. "The souls of my ancestors await judgement depending upon my ability to hold true to those oaths. Until you are prepared to swear your soul to another's honor, Hannabryn," Jack tried to keep the steel out of his voice, "do not presume to judge me."
Refusing to meet his eye, Hannabryn took a swig of her ale to cover her discomfort. After a moment, she shrugged, and said awkwardly, "So, do you want me to talk to Caranthor, or what?"
"Indeed," Jack said in a tone intended to lighten the mood. "It appears that brave Caranthor is lonely. Do you go on and cheer him up. He fair pines away without the gentle company of a fair maiden." Then he smirked, "Well, a fair woman, anyway."
Hannabryn gave Jack a mock scowl as she stood. "Like you'd know the difference. Well, wish me luck." She smoothed her tunic and started toward the head table where Caranthor sat alone, having driven off the merchants who had been seated beside him.
The meal portion of the evening was winding to a close, and the guests were standing about in groups talking. Musicians played softly in the corner as the servants served ale and sweet pastries to the guests. Caradoc was making a serious dent in the pastry supply by himself, and Varth was checking out the Family Grandrith guardsmen, a few of whom were present. Since they had no duties until the journey back to the Grandrith house, they were enjoying the party themselves. The Hendrake guardsmen were, of course, on duty, so they stood about the room ready to prevent any trouble -- not that any was expected, of course.
Snippets of conversation floated to Jack on the night air as he sat back in his chair and watched Hannabryn flirt with Caranthor. The Grandrith scion did indeed appear smitten, glamour or no. Osiric stood and his mother took him about the party to fulfill his social obligations to greet family friends and acquaintances. Dressed in fine dark clothing, Osiric seemed almost to be in his element as he gracefully inclined his head to each new introduction. Osiric had a way of making each person he spoke to feel as though he or she had Osiric's whole attention. His quick wit and gentle humor seemed to impress all whom he spoke to at length, and the glow of pride and love in Lady Helmgrim's eyes spoke volumes to those who saw. A mother's love is easy to come by, some say, but a mother's pride is but dearly bought. No one but Jack would know of Osiric's distaste for the social interactions that were his mother's bread and butter. Belegor's dark gaze noted Osiric's conquests, of course, and he fumed at the sight. The Grandrith lord shot an angry look at his son, who was fairly drooling over Hannabryn. Hiding his glower beneath a carefully crafted mask of civility, Belegor turned back to the merchant who had just asked him a question. An interesting bit of byplay, that. Jack wondered who else had noticed. Looking around, he found musing looks on a few faces. Well, points for Osiric, anyway!
Hannabryn handed Caranthor another full mug of ale, which he proceeded to gulp down. As Hannabryn looked in Jack's direction, he raised one eyebrow in inquiry. Hannabryn's lip curled in a sneer as she grabbed Caranthor's questing hand, and she shrugged. Jack turned away so that anyone watching would think him a rejected suitor. She was already to the second part, then. Jack was disappointed, but not surprised. If he had a son like Caranthor, he would certainly not confide in him.
Varth and Caradoc were wandering around drinking and talking, Osiric was deep in conversation with a friend of his mother's, and Hannabryn had her hands full, so to speak. Jack walked over and sat down next to Goblin -- who by virtue of his Blood had been seated nearer the head table than Jack had been.
"So, young Jack," Goblin teased. "Bored, are you? Not off in a corner somewhere scheming?"
Jack returned the smile and said, "What makes you think I'm not scheming? The best time to do that is when no-one is expecting it. At a party, for example."
"And what schemes are you scheming? What plots are you plotting? What conspiracies are you conspiring? What skullduggery are you skullduggering? Skulldigging? Skulling-dug?"
As they laughed, Jack saw Caranthor spew forth the contents of his stomach and slump to the tabletop to lie in his own vomit like a sack of grain. "Why do you want to know? Are you bored too?"
Goblin shook his head. "I'm too old to be bored, boy." Jack looked at the mage skeptically. "It's true!" he asserted. "At my age you know too much about too many things to be bored. Terrified or exhausted, maybe, but never bored. Just wait till you're my age, then you'll see."
"I doubt it," Jack replied as Hannabryn walked away with a smile of triumph. "I'll probably never reach your age. People in my line of work almost never do."
Goblin's smile softened as he grunted agreement. "True, lad. But at least you will rarely be bored! Here, have a drink," he continued as he handed Jack a flask. "It'll put hair on your chest."
As the smoky whiskey lit a fire in his belly, Jack asked quietly, "Still no sign of your brother?"
Goblin shrugged and responded, "He hasn't been here. Lady Helmgrim's mage was One-eye's apprentice, but he hasn't heard from One-eye for months." His eyes were troubled as he continued. "I'm going to talk to some of the other mages tomorrow to see if they've heard anything. I think something has happened to One-eye. I have certain reasons to believe that One-eye is still alive -- other than my personal desire for that to be true, I mean -- but he may be imprisoned somehow. Oh, by the way, One-eye's ex-apprentice seemed to recall a letter in which One-eye mentioned a suspicion that our friend Kalladen was a spy for Belegor."
"Interesting, if true," Jack commented. "It at least gives us another avenue to investigate." Which, of course, was exactly why Goblin had mentioned it. More work, but Jack didn't mind. One-eye was a friend, and Jack wanted to find him too. He wondered if Goblin's reasons for believing One-eye was alive had anything to do with the cards Varth had taken from Kalladen. Jack knew that Goblin had attempted to contact his brother -- Osiric had said that the contact had been blocked somehow. Perhaps the attempt would have failed differently had One-eye been dead. Jack didn't ask, because he didn't think Goblin would answer.
Varth and Caradoc were walking along behind the head table. As they passed behind Caranthor, Varth said loudly, "So this is a noble, huh," nodding pointedly at the unconscious Grandrith heir. "I'm not impressed. I've known peasants with more sense - and better manners than to vomit on their host's dining table."
The subject of this comment was lacking the awareness to take note of it, but the nearby Lord Belegor flushed with anger, though he carefully refused to respond to the insult as beneath him.
Goblin leaned over to Jack, "Your doing, I assume?" the mage asked as he flickered his eyes in the direction of the little scene they had just witnessed.
"No," Jack responded. "Varth just likes to push." Well, it was half true. While Caranthor's disgrace was Jack's idea, he hadn't actually participated. And Varth wasn't acting on any direction from Jack. Varth had just wanted to provoke Osiric's enemies -- which the Grandrith had turned out to be, it seems.
To Varth's disappointment, Lord Belegor did not deign to acknowledge the comment. Caradoc and Varth continued walking around the hall unchallenged. With a mental shrug Jack turned his attention to the crowd. As he had noted earlier, there were mostly wealthier merchants and a few lesser nobles, with a few craftsmen who were probably the best in their respective crafts. An interesting mix, Jack thought. Lady Helmgrim was chatting amiably with a group of wives, while their husbands had trapped Osiric against the wall. Jack admired Osiric's patience. He seemed to take each man seriously, even though one conversation Jack overheard involved an attempt to breed pink peacocks for trade with the north. You will no doubt be as fascinated as Jack to know that pink peahens had already been achieved, but that the normal males didn't appear to want to breed with the pink females. Imagine that.
Jack took a final swig of Goblin's whiskey and wandered over to where some of the younger merchants were standing about telling crude jokes -- you can never know too many crude jokes, Jack's dear grandmam had always said. Jack was still there laughing at the antics of the smith's daughter when he saw one of Belegor's guardsmen start toward Varth. Varth was deep into conversation with Caradoc, so he didn't notice the man coming. Trying to appear casual, the Grandrith guardsman slammed his shoulder into Varth's as he walked past. Instantly, Varth whirled and grabbed the man's tunic. With a jerk, Varth spun the guardsman around and prepared to clobber him.
"Varth!" commanded Osiric. "Stop!" Varth hesitated, then shook his head and started toward the Grandrith lackey.
"Varth," Jack didn't shout but pitched his voice to carry and filled it with iron. "No."
This time, Varth did stop. He looked at Jack and protested, "He started it!"
"If you are going to fight," Jack scolded, feeling like an exasperated mother, "take it outside." He could see Lady Helmgrim's horrified expression out of the corner of his eye. Jack's heart sank, but his duty was to Osiric, not his mother. Osiric's reputation would suffer if Varth was forced to back down now. If, however, he trounced Belegor's man as Jack expected, Osiric might come out of it actually ahead - and Belegor would certainly lose face.
"Alright," Varth drawled. He turned to look at the Grandrith guardsman. "Would you like to step outside?" he asked with an eager gleam in his eye.
The guardsman's response was to take a glove from his belt and throw it on the floor. A puzzled Varth looked at the glove, then at me.
"He's challenging you," Jack said failing to keep a smirk off his face. "Take him outside and hurt him, but don't," Jack instructed, "don't kill him." Osiric nodded in agreement.
Varth picked up the glove. "I'm going to make you eat this," he said to his challenger as he stalked past him to the door leading out into the courtyard.
"I doubt it," said the guardsman confidently as he followed.
With a set up like that, it was inevitable that most of the party guests would follow to witness the fight. Jack looked at Osiric, who inclined his head in the direction of the door. "Make sure it's fair, Jack," Osiric said. "This is a party. We don't need anyone getting hurt here." Jack bowed slightly and hurried outside to where the spectators had formed a ring.
"No weapons," Jack said as he reached the cleared space, pitching his voice so that both combatants would hear. Varth shrugged and removed his swordbelt as the other man handed his weapons to his companions.
Jack watched carefully as the two men moved toward each other. The guardsman was as large as Varth, but without Varth's solidity. Varth abandoned his usual cat-like grace and simply walked up to the man and stood there. The guardsman assumed his fighting stance and waited for Varth. That was a mistake, Jack thought. You never wait for an attack if you can help it.
Jack was right. Varth's hand suddenly blurred from his side and slipped right between the Grandrith man's warding hands to smack squarely into the man's neck. Varth seemed to like that neck shot - and with his strength it was cruelly effective. Varth's large hands were curled into blunt fists, and so didn't do the kind of damage a more scientific strike might have, but even so, the guardsman dropped to the ground and didn't get up. Varth walked up to the man and checked him.
"He's not damaged," Varth said to the man's tense companions. "But he'll be eating oatmeal for a while." As the men relaxed Varth pulled out the glove the guardsman had thrown down in challenge and stuffed it contemptuously in the man's mouth. The Grandrith men bristled in response, but were silent beneath Jack's glare. Mutely, they gathered up their fallen companion and retreated across the courtyard.
As Varth reclaimed his rapier he was surrounded by a congratulating crowd. Excited hands slapped him on the back as inebriated voices exclaimed over his triumph. Varth had impressed the younger set, and even the older and more reserved shunned the Grandrith men.
Jack returned with the crowd to the main hall and walked over to Osiric as he stood with his mother and Lord Belegor. Lady Helmgrim held herself with prim disapproval as Jack walked up and bowed to Osiric. Lord Belegor seemed to be smelling something sour.
"Well," Osiric began. "Varth appears to be unscathed. What happened?"
"Twas a brief conflict, my lord," Jack responded unemotionally. "Varth hit Lord Belegor's man. Lord Belegor's man fell down." He stopped.
"That's it?" Osiric asked mildly.
"Yes, my lord," Jack replied. "Lord Belegor's man," Jack loved how Belegor had to suppress a flinch each time he used that term to describe the hapless guardsman, "Lord Belegor's man fell down and didn't get up." Jack heard a snort behind him as someone suppressed a laugh.
Lord Belegor sniffed haughtily. "You seem to have quite a rowdy bunch working for you, Osiric," he said snidely. "It must be quite trying, at times."
"Not really," Osiric replied calmly, "though I can see why you might think so. I believe it's a matter of leadership, you see." Again that snort from behind me. "Though perhaps you could give me pointers on where to get," Osiric paused delicately, "good men?"
Nicely done, Osiric, Jack applauded silently. An implied disparagement of the quality of Belegor's hired fighters, and a veiled innuendo that Belegor might be more interested in other skills in his male servants -- skills that had nothing to do with the traditional masculine virtues.
Belegor's eyes glittered with anger, but the insult was so subtle that he couldn't claim offence. And he obviously couldn't think of any response that could not be taken as confirmation of Osiric's innuendo. Instead, Belegor simply turned away from Osiric and began talking to Lady Helmgrim -- who, Jack thought as he looked at her determined cheerfulness, probably agreed with Belegor's assessment of Osiric's servants but who had the grace not to undermine her son before guests.
Osiric touched Jack's elbow and inclined his head toward the wall. The two walked casually away from the knot of conversation.
"How do you like our Lord Belegor?" Osiric asked wryly.
"I'm sure he's very nice," Jack returned. "If you happen to like snakes, that is." Osiric grinned.
"And yet he's very careful to keep his belly clean as he slithers around," Osiric said musingly.
"Of course," Jack responded in the same tone, "else he might be identified as poisonous and dealt with as such snakes are once discovered." They halted next to the wall and Osiric turned a serious face to Jack.
"I wasn't able to get any information from him, Jack," Osiric said, "but I think he's up to something. I don't think he has the best interests of the House in mind, either. I fear that he may have to be dealt with before we can involve ourselves in the situation in Dalarda." Osiric's mask was nearly perfect, but Jack could hear the undertones of bitterness in his voice.
"I surmised as much, my lord, I asked Hannabryn to talk to Caranthor - he seemed to have a weakness for pretty women. I don't yet know what, if anything, she has discovered. I suspect, however, that she was unable to get any more information than you were able to get from Belegor." Jack was sure that Osiric had seen Hannabryn talking to Caranthor, and wanted him to know that it had been Jack's idea.
Osiric simply shrugged. "I'm not surprised. That would be too easy. We'll talk about this later -- I will want your council, and that of the others. Just be on your guard, Jack."
"As always, my lord," Jack bowed his head to him and he nodded in return. They shared a companionable moment in silence before Osiric sighed.
"I must return to the festivities," Osiric said with a long-suffering smile. "They are officially my guests, after all. Cannot have them pining away without me, you know."
True. Although this was Lady Helmgrim's party and her house, Osiric was the head of both the Hendrake and the Helmgrim Families. As such this was officially his house, and he was therefore the host. Rules of courtesy demanded his presence. Osiric steeled himself and walked across the room to rejoin his mother. She turned to introduce him to the master merchant she had been speaking with -- a tall rotund man who swayed forward as he made his greeting to Osiric. Jack winced in sympathy. The man's breath was appalling -- even the memory was capable of bringing tears to Jack's eyes.
Turning away from the painful sight, Jack began idly scanning the crowd. Things had settled down a good bit since Varth's short fight, though there were still a large number of people here. His practiced eyes saw no signs of further disturbance brewing. People were standing about in small groups gossiping as they always do at parties. Jack relaxed slightly; he had feared some sort of retaliation by Belegor's followers. Osiric had come out of this evening pretty well, and Belegor couldn't be happy with that. Not that Belegor had lost much - his position and reputation were too strongly entrenched to be seriously affected by one party - but Osiric's reputation was nearly non-existent, so tonight's events would be the first real impression this community would get of Osiric. They had laid the groundwork for Osiric to be seen as an intelligent, thoughtful, and courteous man. Strength and leadership were implied, as Osiric himself had pointed out, by the fact that he had respect and loyalty from a fighter such as Varth. Patience was obvious; Jack was not the only person who noticed Belegor's slights, he was sure. And of course, Lady Helmgrim's reputation for honesty and fairness would spread its mantle over him, her son -- at least until he gave evidence to the contrary. That last was unlikely, since Osiric was his mother's son in that respect. Perhaps Lord Belegor had just decided to fall back and regroup. Or perhaps... Lord Belegor was almost as much in the spotlight as Osiric, tonight. He hadn't had much time to plan anything, much less execute it. And no one had acted on his behalf? Perhaps Lord Belegor didn't have someone like Jack in his employ. That could be useful to know. But, he had to have some sources of information.
Jack began scanning the crowd in earnest, looking for someone who listened more than they talked. Someone who didn't quite fit in to the social groupings, but didn't clash, either. Someone who asked leading questions as though they were the most natural thing in the world. Someone who could smile elegantly in response to a bit of gossip and never have to respond in kind. That's her! Jack thought to himself as he pushed away from the wall.
She was a tall, dark, exotic beauty of obviously foreign blood. These city minded aristocrats and upper-crust merchants would not expect a foreigner to know local gossip, so she would never have to tell any. And they would feel that she was safer to talk to -- she was foreign, so she wouldn't have any personal ties to the people they were gossiping about -- and besides, she would surely be leaving soon. Jack shook his head in admiration as he wondered just how many years she had been using those pre-conceptions in her favor. Jack thought he recalled seeing her arrive with Belegor. Curious now, Jack decided to engage the woman in conversation. Perhaps she might let something slip.
Jack casually joined a group of guests near where the exotic beauty listened calmly to the matron's complaints about her husband's recent working hours. Jack turned to respond to a question, and when he looked back, the dark skinned woman was walking easily in the opposite direction. Hmm...
"You don't have a chance with her," Jack was told. The young man had seen the direction of his gaze. "She's an ice cold bitch." Enough bitterness there to tell Jack how the young man had gotten that opinion.
Jack turned to ask the youth, "Who is she?"
"That's Isobella," he replied scornfully. "She's Lord Belegor's."
"His mistress?" Jack raised one eyebrow.
"No, I don't think so," the young man responded. "Lord Belegor's married and his wife wouldn't stand for that. Besides, Isobella would probably freeze his..." The young man waved a hand to make his point. Jack nodded. Interesting. Jack muttered a distracted farewell to the young man as he strolled in the general direction Isobella had taken.
Each time Jack would get near enough to hear whatever conversation Isobella was in, she would make some excuse to go elsewhere. Jack had been careful to make each approach seem accidental, yet she continued to elude him. After the third or fourth time of this, it became clear that Isobella was deliberately avoiding Jack. It was an insult - she didn't know Jack well enough to truly dislike him. And she certainly knew the social rules of this kind of party. You can ignore someone at a party; you can insult them; you can even fight them; you cannot, however, refuse to share space with them without having even met them. That is tantamount to saying that they are socially unacceptable - they have an odour, or make rude noises, or are some sort of animal that doesn't belong in the house - it is certainly not personal dislike. Should Jack let it go? He was tired, and his patience was short. Jack was in no mood to just let it go. Yet he didn't want to do anything that would reduce the gains Osiric had made tonight - which almost any act Jack might take could certainly do. As he looked around for ideas, Jack's eyes fell upon Caradoc, who leaned on a table alone. The Randgrith lord might be able to give Jack an idea, having been raised to the noble class, though he had rejected those strictures. Caradoc might be able to suggest an appropriate response. Jack walked over.
"Jack," Caradoc greeted him with a nod. "What stirs?"
"Never much, good friend," Jack responded. "I think that lady is part Pict," Jack continued disgustedly with a nod at Isobella.
"What?" Caradoc demanded as he looked in that direction. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Isobella. "Foreign, certainly, but she doesn't look Pict," he growled. His distaste for the Pictish race was a matter for some jest, yet was completely in earnest.
"Not the look, no," Jack agreed. "Nor probably in truth. Yet her character certainly seems barbaric."
"Ah," Caradoc nodded understanding. "She's got the low Pictish spirit, you mean. And how did her Pictish spirit lead her to offend you?"
"I have been trying to speak with her, but she has been avoiding me as though I were unclean." Jack touched his nose to show what he meant.
"She should not have insulted you so," Caradoc growled as he stood. "She will not talk to you, hey? Then let us see if she will talk to me." Without further words, Caradoc stalked off toward Isobella. As Caradoc left, Jack realized the Randgrith lord had had more to drink than Jack had realized, and Jack winced. Oh well, Jack had no doubt that Caradoc in the right mood could teach the exotic Isobella a thing or two about being rude. This should be interesting at least, he thought as he sank down onto an abandoned bench. And he comforted himself with the thought that since Caradoc is Blood Lineal in his own right, what he does will not reflect directly on Osiric the way Jack's own actions could.
The dauntless Caradoc strode up and placed himself before a startled Isobella. Maintaining her self-possession, Isobella ignored Caradoc -- refusing to meet his gaze and acting as though his aggressive visage wasn't in her face. It was much the same denial of existence as she had used on Jack, and he felt his lips curl in an unpleasant smile as he anticipated Caradoc's response.
"Hey," Caradoc growled, "look at me!" He paused for her response.
Isobella continued to ignore the man standing before her. She might have gotten away with that, though it seems unlikely, but her nerves betrayed her. She turned and began to walk away from Caradoc.
As the back of his neck flushed in anger, Caradoc reached out a large callused hand and grabbed a handful of long black hair. Wrapping it about his fist, he pulled a shocked Isobella around to face him.
"You don't walk away from me, foreign bitch." Caradoc growled. "Not until we're finished talking."
Isobella's face grew dark with fury as she raised a clawed hand toward Caradoc's face. Caradoc simply bared his teeth and raised a clenched fist. It was clear that if she struck at him, he would return the blow with interest. Isobella froze - for Caradoc is a large man, and he could mar her pretty face.
"Release me, you pig!" Isobella spat at Caradoc as she realized finally that he would allow no graceful escape.
"So you can talk," Caradoc sneered. "I was beginning to think you were just stupid."
By now, this little scene had the attention of everyone who remained at the party. Osiric appeared suddenly at Caradoc's shoulder with an anxious expression.
"What's going on?" Osiric asked with a placating gesture.
"Call off your dog, lordling," Isobella demanded.
Caradoc narrowed his eyes in anger and shook her like a terrier with a rat. "Dog indeed." He muttered between clenched teeth. "Let me show you what a dog does with a flea-bitten cat."
Osiric had grabbed Caradoc's shoulder and said insistently "Stop it, Caradoc! This is my home and she is my guest. For the sake of our friendship, I ask you to release her."
With a final shake for good measure, Caradoc sneered and released Isobella. Her eyes were slightly crossed as she staggered for a moment.
"Caradoc is no servant of mine. He is my cousin, and a lord in his own right," Osiric said as he placed a hand on Isobella's elbow to help her regain her balance. "He is a guest in this house even as you are." Osiric turned to Caradoc.
"What was this about?" Osiric asked with only a hint of steel.
"The bitch insulted me, and she insulted Jack. I don't take," Caradoc warned, "insults from anyone. Jack may feel he has to, because of his duty. I don't." Caradoc crossed his arms across his chest defiantly and stared a challenge at Isobella - who wisely remained silent.
Wincing when his name was mentioned, Jack walked forward to stand before his lord. He looked interestedly at Isobella, who narrowed her eyes and looked as though she'd like to spit. Now she knew that insults could have their price.
"I'll talk with you later, Jack," Osiric said in a low voice. "You should know better." He turned to Isobella and began making flowery apologies. As he led her off, he began engaging her in conversation.
Belegor had remained out of the conflict. He was watching Osiric with a calculating look. So he didn't want people thinking he was tied to Isobella, Jack though. Interesting.
Jack turned to a still glowering Caradoc and slapped him on the shoulder. With a grin and a shake of his head Jack muttered, "That was absolutely wonderful! Thank you. I just hope you won't get into trouble."
Caradoc returned Jack's grin and shrugged. "What can they do to me? Besides, the wench deserved it."
Jack nodded agreement as they strolled casually back to their table. Hannabryn was sitting back in her seat and grinning.
As Caradoc leaned back in his seat with a satisfied expression, Jack raised one eyebrow to Hannabryn and inquired, "Well?"
"Not much. Caranthor spit on the mention of Bevyar," Hannabryn replied in disgust. "Belegor is in contact with Dalarda's king, but Caranthor didn't know anything more about it. And as far as he knows there is no Grandrith plot against Osiric. However," Hannabryn said meaningfully, "they'd love to see him dead. They just think that his quest will do that for them."
"His quest? They knew of that?"
"Yes," Hannabryn responded. "They don't know exactly where, but they know what he's looking for."
Jack nodded. "Thank you. That was nicely done."
As Hannabryn basked in the praise, Jack mulled things over. They couldn't delay Osiric's quest long -- not without a good reason. Yet Jack had a feeling there would be more conflict with the Grandrith Family before they were able to leave. Not at Jack's instigation, either, which meant they would be simply responding to Belegor's gambits. Jack didn't like that, but he couldn't see a good way to go on the offensive. They'd have to take their cues from Lord Belegor. They needed more information. "Hannabryn. If you feel up to it, would you follow Isobella after she leaves?" Jack asked. "I'd like to know where she goes, and to whom she speaks."
"Sure Jack," she replied hesitantly. "I'll try."
"Good. Don't hurt yourself in the process, though," Jack admonished. "It's not that important." Hannabryn was still healing from the trap that Kalladen had laid. She still tired easily, and Jack didn't want her having a setback.
Jack got up to look for Varth. Once he found the young assassin, Jack motioned him over into the shadows where they would not be heard.
"Varth," Jack said quietly. "I want you to follow Lord Belegor when he leaves here. I want to know where he goes."
Varth's eyes glittered. "Consider it done, Jack."
The party was winding down, and people were leaving. Jack was glad of that, and looking forward to resting. Isobella left, followed shortly by Belegor. Most of the other guests had made their goodbyes when Osiric motioned to Jack from across the room. Silently, Jack followed the Randgrith lord down the hallway and into a study. Osiric sat wearily and motioned Jack to another chair.
"What was Hannabryn up to tonight?" Osiric asked as he rubbed his eyes.
Caught off guard by the question, Jack took a moment to respond. "I asked her to talk to Caranthor. He seemed the type to respond to pretty girls," he replied, confused.
"Are you sure she just talked to him? Isobella seemed to think it was something more," Osiric said doubtfully.
"Well, she cast a charm on him so that he would like her. Nothing obvious or dangerous," Jack hastened to assert, "just something to make him amenable."
"I think Isobella sensed it, then." Osiric replied with concern. "That might mean that she's some sort of mage."
Jack was dubious. "That seems unlikely. From what I understand, it is very difficult to sense a spell being cast - particularly if you are not its target. What exactly did she say?"
Osiric folded his hands and pursed his lips. "Let me see if I can remember. She said something like:
'I know what was going on with that tart you have working for you. I know what she was doing with Caranthor.' To which I replied:
'She was just talking to him.'
She said:
'There was a lot more going on than just that! I'm not stupid, you know.' And she was angry.
You see, Jack? It sounds like she knew Hannabryn was using magic."
"Maybe," Jack was still doubtful. "But I don't think there's anything we can do about it now."
"No, you're right. Get some rest," Osiric ordered curtly, "We are supposed to meet with my mother in the morning. She is going to tell me where my father's sword was lost. I want you at that meeting with me, and I want you alert."
"Yes, my lord," Jack responded automatically as he dragged his fatigued body off to his chamber.
After a couple of hours sleep, Jack was awakened by a dark form beside his bed.
"Belegor and Isobella both went to the Grandrith manor house," Varth reported as Jack sat up with a start. "They didn't stop anywhere on the way. I sent Hannabryn on to bed."
"Good," Jack muttered blearily. "Get some sleep yourself."
"You don't have to tell me!" Varth said with a tired chuckle. "I'm on my way. See you in the morning, Jack."
"More likely the afternoon!" Varth laughed as he closed Jack's door behind him.
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Monday, April 21, 2008
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Current mood:  artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
Taking a shallow breath and flashing Jack a look of surprise as it hurt less than she expected, Hannabryn replied, "That bastard set a trap for us. We were leading our horses and following the trail next to a rocky hillside, when suddenly the hill started to collapse on us." She shook her head weakly. "Caradoc wasn't hurt, but I couldn't get out of the way in time. After that, we were pretty sure we had the right trail. Caradoc knew you two would be following soon, so he bandaged me as best he could and sent me back." Hannabryn gave a faltering smile as she continued, "I wasn't as strong as I thought I was."
"You did fine," Varth replied firmly. "I know hardened fighters who wouldn't have made it this far."
"He's right, Hannabryn," Jack seconded. "You did well. I know you're tired and hurt. I'm not going to ask you to go anywhere right now. Unfortunately, I'm worried about Caradoc, and about Kalladen's plans." Jack didn't like what he was about to say, but he didn't see another option. "I'm leaving you my pistol, and some food and water. One of us will be back for you," Jack promised firmly. "But we must go on."
Hannabryn nodded. Jack gave her some willow bark and a few coffee beans to chew on -- the one for pain, and the other for alertness. They left the young woman slumped pale and drawn against the trunk of the tree.
"There!" Varth repeated as he pointed at the sky. They had reached a clear space next to a hill, and had made sure that this one had no rocks to threaten them. Varth was pointing at a faint smudge against the blue sky. Smoke. There must be a fire somewhere ahead. A big one, too. What could have started a forest fire on a cloudless day?
Varth and Jack looked at each other and at the same time exclaimed, "Caradoc!"
Jack nodded. "Seems like kind of a drastic signal, but it certainly got our attention. We'd better hurry."
Without further words, Varth kicked his horse into a trot and began leading the way toward the smoke.
They broke from a line of trees onto an expanse of open stony ground. On the other side of the open space was a hillside covered in flames. Jack heard a shout to his right and turned quickly. Caradoc came jogging up to the two with his bow in his hand.
"Kalladen shot my horse from somewhere up there," Caradoc announced breathlessly as he reached them. "There was a stand of dead trees. I lit them on fire to confuse Kalladen and signal you. I found his horse's tracks leading around the side of the hill. I found his horse, but no sign of Kalladen. It is as if he vanished." Caradoc frowned in irritation. "And his horse was still lathered when I found it, so he could only have been minutes in front of me. Another odd thing; Kalladen's horse never veered from the northerly route, nor did I see any tracks to indicate that he left that route himself -- yet he most certainly did in order to set up the trap which caught Hannabryn." Caradoc was an experienced hunter. If he said that there were no tracks, then there were none. "So here's the puzzle. How does a man move that fast in the woods and yet leave no trail?" Caradoc finished with frustration.
Varth's face had grown grim during Caradoc's recital, and he responded to the question. "I think I may know. And if he has that skill, then there is no way we can track him in the woods - and he will be able to travel at almost unbelievable speed. I have studied such a skill that the Picts have - he may have a similar talent."
"And we have split our company and left Osiric less defended," Jack concluded with bitter self-recrimination. The three of them shared identical grim expressions.
"If he has this skill, just how fast will he be able to move through the woods?" Jack asked Varth.
"He'll be able to run at top speed for several days, and not leave a trail," Varth replied.
Jack made a quick mental calculation. If Kalladen was after Osiric, they might still have a chance to catch him. "And you have some degree of this skill also?" Jack inquired.
"Some," Varth returned. "I can go for at least a day."
"Fine," Jack said decisively. "This is my plan. I can certainly run at a near sprint at least the distance back to where Osiric is. You can parallel me at some distance. If Kalladen comes out of hiding to attack me, you get him from behind. If not, we might have a chance to reach Osiric before Kalladen acts." Jack didn't have Varth's strength, and no woodcraft, but he did have a great deal of stamina. Jack was gambling on Kalladen not acting immediately upon reaching Osiric and the wagon; the man would at least want to verify that Varth and Jack weren't there, and wait for his moment. That might make up for his head start.
"Caradoc," Jack said as the flames roared a discordant counterpart. "I'd appreciate it if you would take our horses and go get Hannabryn. We left her sitting against a tree because she was at the end of her endurance. She would probably not survive riding any great distance, so please be careful." Caradoc nodded. Jack had faith in the Randgrith scion. Whatever it took, he and Hannabryn would rejoin the rest of the company alive.
Caradoc swung into the saddle and offered, "Good luck. We'll catch up with you as soon as possible." With a hand raised in farewell, he started back toward the town and a battered Hannabryn.
Jack flexed his knees for just a moment, then began to jog through the trees. Varth and Jack would cut straight across to the road, hopefully judging things well enough to meet the road near where Osiric and Goblin would be. Jack was confident that Angrenbor could kill Kalladen in a fight, but battlefield skills might not respond quickly enough to an assassin's unexpected ambush. Jack's breathing was deep and even despite my concerns, and he fell into an almost meditative state as his legs pumped beneath him. He could not see or hear Varth, but knew that he was there. Jack only hoped that they would be in time.
Jack had been aware of an almost imperceptible pull for a while. At first he had assumed it was imagination, or wishful thinking, but finally realized it wasn't. What he was sensing was that blasted mirror that Goblin had concealed in the wagon. Jack's meditative state had been deeper than he realized. He had unconsciously guided himself toward that chaotic source of energy, and they had almost reached it.
Jack burst from the woods to stand panting in the middle of the road. To his relief, Osiric, Goblin, Angrenbor, and Unkus were fine, though startled by Jack's sudden appearance from the underbrush. Varth pushed his way through the bushes to join Jack, who was disgusted by the fact that the young assassin wasn't even sweating after their hour's run.
Osiric said calmly, "Report Jack. Where are Caradoc and Hannabryn?"
Jack let Varth explain as he caught his breath and scanned the surrounding woods. Unkus slipped into the trees as soon as he realized that there was concern that an assassin might be hiding nearby. After Varth finished his story, Osiric responded that they had seen nothing suspicious. Unkus returned with a negative report -- he had found no sign of anyone in the nearby woods. Jack's anxiety decreased somewhat, but didn't go entirely away. After some discussion, Osiric decided that we should continue the journey to Caernadruin.
"We'll just have to stay alert," Osiric instructed. "Kalladen may no longer be interested in us."
"He had ample opportunity to act against us before he left," Goblin pointed out as they rode along.
"But you don't know what instructions he's been getting lately," Jack replied. "And he's been watched pretty closely the last few days, I can assure you."
Goblin shrugged. "Frankly, I doubt he's that good," he commented.
Jack nodded agreement. He doubted it too, but he'd hate to be wrong. Besides, it was Jack's job to assume that everyone is that good, and be ready for them.
Later that afternoon Varth noticed a cloud of dust being raised by something coming down the road behind them. Goblin pulled the wagon to the side and waited. Soon they could recognize Caradoc on the seat of a wagon careening madly down the road. The horses were winded as the Randgrith lord pulled up behind Goblin. Sitting in the back of the wagon clinging to the sides for dear life was an older man Jack didn't recognize. Jack rode over and looked down into the wagon to see Hannabryn lying weakly on a bed of hay.
Caradoc looked at Jack and shrugged. "It was the fastest way to get her here, and I think she needs some of Goblin's help. This old quack," Caradoc nodded at the older man, "is the local bonesetter. I thought it was a good idea for him to ride along to keep an eye on Hannabryn."
Goblin began examining Hannabryn's wounds as the country healer climbed slowly down from the wagon. "Can I go home now?" the healer asked hesitantly. "She's here, and she's still alive."
Caradoc gave a curt nod and the man began to trudge back toward the town whose name Jack still didn't know. Jack stopped him and handed him two silver nobles.
"Thank you for your services, good sir," Jack said courteously.
The man looked at him for a moment, then returned, "You are welcome, but he," a sharp gesture at Caradoc, "he is not!" He turned on his heel and began walking once again.
Jack suppressed a smile and turned back to the wagon in time to hear Caradoc explaining that he had bought the wagon for Hannabryn to travel in until she was in better health. She already looked better from Goblin's ministrations. Jack knew the mage had used magic to heal the worst of the damage, but she could take some time to heal completely. She would tire easily and have little stamina, but at least she would live despite Kalladen's little trap.
Days later, the constant, almost paranoid watchfulness that Jack had forced himself into was beginning to take its toll. Jack was starting to believe that Kalladen really didn't have any further interest in them, but could not shake the conviction that they would see the mysterious servant again. So Jack watched, and the drain on his energy would just have to be endured. They were nearly to Caernadruin. Hannabryn was doing better, and there had been no further complications.
They came to a place where the road crossed a small stream with a sturdy little bridge. As they approached, a man in full plate armor marched forth to stand in the middle of the road. Osiric called a stop and rode forward to speak to the man. Jack and his shotgun accompanied the Randgrith lord.
"I am a Knight of the Order of Janos. I have sworn a vow to challenge all who pass to a contest of swords. I may not leave this place until I have been bested. I challenge you," the knight said to Osiric.
"And what are the terms of this challenge?" Osiric asked coolly. "To the death? First blood?"
"No, no, no!" the knight protested, embarrassed. "Just a friendly test of skill! I don't want to be killing or wounding innocent people! I did something stupid, and this is my penance. Just an honorable contest, that is all."
Osiric raised an amused eyebrow and replied, "Very well, I will cross blades with you." He dismounted and handed Jack his horse's reigns. "Keep a sharp eye, Jack," he said in a low voice. "This could be a legitimate penance -- some of the knightly orders do things like this. It could also be something else." Jack nodded gravely and shifted his grip on the shotgun.
Osiric squared off with the knight and both drew their swords. Our party made a large ring around the combatants, while Jack kept watch on the road. The two started fencing, or whatever you call hacking at each other with broadswords. After a period of testing each other out, they slowly increased the pace until the air rang with the sound of steel striking steel. After a few minutes at this pace, Osiric broke off and stepped back.
"Is this sufficient?" Osiric asked. "Has honor been satisfied?"
"Indeed," the knight replied, though he seemed disappointed. "You have been a most gracious opponent. I will not stay you from your journey any longer. Farewell, good sir."
"Farewell," Osiric responded as he put his sword away.
"That was interesting, my lord," Jack said blandly as he handed Osiric the horse's reigns.
Osiric bemusedly shook his head. "The knightly orders can be quite impressive. Too much so, perhaps. Things like this are used to remind the knights of humility. Well, it has served to remind me that I haven't been practicing as I should," he said as he mounted. "Let's get back on the move."
Osiric had been showing a growing eagerness to reach Caernadruin. It was clear that he was looking forward to seeing his mother. Jack had never met the Lady Helmgrim, and was looking forward to it himself.
"Wait," Varth requested as he came up to Osiric. "Maybe I should fight him. I could release him from his vow to challenge all travelers crossing the bridge."
"We don't want to kill him," Osiric said firmly.
"I don't mean that. Just a 'friendly test of skill'." Varth shot Jack a pleading look.
Osiric seemed puzzled by the request, but Jack offered, "I'll stay and referee, Osiric. I'll make sure nobody gets hurt."
"Very well," Osiric acceded. "Varth, you can fight him. By the rules of honor, remember."
Varth nodded uncertainly and Osiric lifted his horse into a canter across the bridge. The wagons trundled slowly after, leaving behind Varth, Angrenbor, and Jack.
"Going to start building a reputation, heh?" Angrenbor inquired dryly.
"Yes," Jack agreed. Varth nodded and walked over to where the knight stood watching us. The knight was concerned over the fact that Varth wore only chain mail, and not plate armor such as the knight himself wore. Varth reassured him that since this was just a challenge of skill, it would not affect honor. After a few more words, they began to trade testing blows. Varth steadily forced the pace of the fight until the blades were whistling through the air - gray blurring arcs of tempered steel jolting noisily off one another. Jack thought to himself that one of the things he really liked about knife fighting was that it was quiet. After a few minutes at this pace, the knight began to tire, though he gave no indication of asking for a rest. Jack could see when Varth made up his mind to finish the fight before the knight was humiliated. The young warrior caught the knight's blade in a bind. Stepping forward and twisting, Varth tumbled the more heavily armored man over his leg to crash ponderously to the ground. The knight yielded as the tip of Varth's blade rested against the chain mail protecting the man's neck.
Varth put away his sword and helped the knight to his feet. "Well fought," Varth complemented heartily, covering his awkward unfamiliarity with this kind of situation with easy good cheer.
As the knight recovered his breath, he responded "And you, young man. I feel no shame at having been bested honorably by such a fighter." Varth flushed faintly at the praise, and Captain Angrenbor beamed like a proud father. Jack hid a grin; these nobles were weird.
"Will you now return home?" Varth inquired pleasantly.
"Yes, I shall. Home to Thuringia to report the completion of my penance. I am Sir Piter Von Stuben. May I have your name?"
"I am Varth Tarason. I too have taken vows. I seek justice for the murer of my mother, slain by shadowkin. But that is another tale. Good journey, Sir Knight."
"Good journey," Sir Piter answered. "And luck in your quest."
They finally remounted and returned to the road, rejoining Osiric's company after a short while. They rode in silence, each wrapped in our own reflections. Jack hoped that Sir Piter might spread the tale of his meeting Varth Tarason, and of Varth's search for his mother's assassins. It might encourage those responsible to try again to kill Varth. They needed some sort of clue, because the trail was very cold.
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Thursday, April 17, 2008
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Current mood:  amused
Category: Writing and Poetry
CHAPTER 4
The day was bright and sunny, and Jack was determined to be cheerful. They had finally begun the trip to Brythonos, the first step on Osiric's quest. Once they reached Brythonos' capitol, Caernadruin, Osiric would learn from his mother exactly where his father had been lost. It was sensitive information. The sword that had been lost was one of the House Randgrith heirlooms, with a history that tied it to the House. As such it was a totem that carried with it certain significant political overtones. If another branch of the House were to recover the sword, it would be a coup - and politically embarrassing to Lord Osiric Hendrake. Osiric's mother intended that no one but Osiric know the location of the sword, but Jack didn't know if her motivations were political or simply due to a strict adherence to the demands of honor.
The rest of the company consisted of Osiric, Caradoc, Goblin, Varth, Captain Angrenbor, young Hannabryn, and Unkus, who would accompany them for the first week on the road before returning to his tribe. There was one other person with the group; someone Jack didn't know. The stranger was named Kalladen, and Goblin had informed Jack that Kalladen would be accompanying them to Caernadruin.
"Osiric," Jack had protested. "What do we know about this Kalladen? Is it wise to take a stranger with us now?"
"Kalladen is One-eye's servant, Jack," Osiric said with a shake of his head. "One-eye sent him to Goblin for safety, and Goblin feels honor bound to comply. What would you have me do?"
Jack had subsided helplessly. One-eye was Goblin's brother, also a Randgrith mage and one of the few people Jack counted a friend. But Jack had never heard of Kalladen, and he didn't trust the coincidence of the man's appearance at this point in time. Kalladen had been cordial, but something about the man bothered Jack, who decided to keep an eye on Kalladen and hope he was wrong.
A formless anxiety had been growing in Jack over the past two weeks, and his dreams had been disturbed by odd visions of his ancestors fending off dark creatures. Jack had an uneasy sense of ponderous forces having been set in motion, with a growing momentum that would be impossible to stop. Combined with concern over goblin inhabitation in the area that Osiric was going to be searching for his father's sword and distrust of the mysterious Kalladen, the dreams left Jack with a formless and nervous fear. That fear had led Jack to acquire a double-barreled shotgun, and he was quickly developing a habit of having it always at hand. At short range the shotgun would do fearsome damage, and Jack counted on it taking out at least two of any enemy in a fight. Which would be two less that Jack would have to worry about.
Jack shook the dark thoughts away and turned to look over his shoulder at his companions. They made an odd group - particularly with Unkus driving the wagon Goblin had insisted be brought. Varth hadn't understood the need for the wagon, but Jack had suspicions.
Just before departing Delwyn, Jack had again been talking to Osiric, and shared his concerns about leaving Delwyn without resolving the matter of Scroupe. Osiric had reassured Jack obliquely.
"I think I can assure you that Scroupe will follow us wherever we go," Osiric had said meaningfully as he looked Jack straight in the eye.
Jack had raised one eyebrow as he responded, "I believe I understand, my lord."
"No doubt you do, Jack," Osiric had replied with a smile. "I wouldn't want you to waste your energy worrying about the wrong thing."
"Aye, my lord." Jack had left it at that. But he noted Goblin's proprietary interest in the wagon, though its contents seemed certainly nothing special. Jack had observed that the inside of the wagon was smaller than the outside dimensions would seem to imply. Subtly so, and almost imperceptible when the wagon was filled as it now was, but Jack could guess why Osiric and Goblin weren't concerned about having left the mirror behind -- because they hadn't.
Jack and Varth bantered back and forth, and Unkus continued to teach them his language. As evening approached Osiric decided to make an early camp, since they would need to work out a watch rotation this first night.
The arrangements turned out to be quite odd. Goblin had a number of concerns about the wagon's contents -- ostensibly the fairly large quantity of gunpowder it contained, which the mage claimed to fear to have near Osiric. Jack knew that it was more than that, since the final arrangement was for there to be two camps, about fifty yards apart. Osiric would be in the first camp, and the wagon in the second. The wagon camp was to be a cold camp with no fire. This made for some unwillingness among the company to have duty in the wagon camp; for though the days were quite warm and pleasant, the evenings this late in the year were rather chill. Goblin was determined to be in the camp with the wagon -- though gunpowder didn't require his expertise. Goblin would be accompanied by Kalladen, of course, who followed him like a dark and silent hound. Hannabryn volunteered as well, Jack thought because she hoped to learn more of magery from Goblin. The faint itch of distrust in the back of Jack's mind made him choose to occupy the wagon camp as well. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on Kalladen. And so it was set; everyone else would stay in the regular camp with Osiric. This led to four watches in each camp, so that two people would be watching at any given time, one in each camp. The camps were near enough that the people on guard could re-enforce one another. There was only one final detail.
"Jack, you and I will each take one of the mid-watches," Osiric told Jack privately. "I'll take the earlier one. Stand your watch in Teinne Doighe gestalt meditation. I know you haven't done the gestalt meditation often, but as a second level adept you certainly have the training. Your ability to sense life energies will be hightened, and you'll be better able to sense the approach of hostile enemies." Osiric smiled slyly. "I told you I'd get you to practice the deeper disciplines somehow." "You're too devious for me, my lord," Jack deadpanned as he inclined his head.
The general good mood persisted, and the evening passed uneventfully. As Jack settled into his watch and began the gestalt meditation, he became aware of a chaotic, flickering surge of energy. As his meditation stabilized, Jack realized that the energy source was in or on the wagon. This confirmed Jack's guess that Goblin had brought Scroupe's mysterious mirror and that it was secreted in the wagon. But the turbulence of that energy was disturbing. Jack paid close attention, but there didn't seem to be any increase in the output of energy during his watch. Jack had a short chat with Goblin the next morning to discuss what Jack had sensed.
"Interesting," Goblin murmured as he shot Jack a sharp glance. "Well, don't worry about it unless it changes. That virulent activity is apparently normal for a certain item which I have brought. I can sense it as well, but let me know if you notice a change."
Jack nodded and replied, "You're the expert."
Goblin looked surprised as Jack turned away. The mage had expected Jack to demand explanations, but Jack already knew what he needed to know, and the rest he was satisfied to leave in the older man's hands.
For several days their caution seemed groundless as they made good time, even with the wagon, without any dangers appearing. The evening of the fifth night Jack bedded down as usual and quickly fell to sleep. Some time later Jack was awakened by a sense of impending peril. As he opened his eyes, Jack glimpsed a strange otherworldly light and he rolled to his feet with his shotgun pointed toward the source of that glow. Goblin stood facing that source without without seeming concerned. Jack walked up to stand a few feet to the mage's left as the glow coalesced into a ten foot tall winged figure standing twenty feet away. The demonic figure continued to glow as reptilian yellow eyes fastened on Goblin, who seemed almost bored by this display -- though at least he forbore to yawn in the creature's face.
"What do you want?" Goblin asked disinterestedly as he studied the figure.
The slitted eyes narrowed as the beast paused before responding, "You should stay out of matters that are none of your business." Scaled wings lazily stirred the air, sending a bitter odor wafting toward them. "It is not safe to meddle," the creature purred in a low, grating voice that raised the hair on Jack's neck.
Goblin gazed consideringly at the demon, then he replied slyly, "Get rid of Scroupe and we can talk. He has made himself our enemy - destroy him and we can bargain."
The demon's eyes glinted as it slowly shook its head. The wicked points of its horns seemed almost to puncture the very air. "Scroupe is my servant," the demon responded with a growl. Then it continued meaningfully, "I never give up what is mine." Jack had the feeling that the demon was making a point about more than just the ex-lord Scroupe.
"Scroupe isn't very bright," Goblin observed as Jack heard the others in their camp finally stirring. Jack kept his attention and his shotgun trained on the demon as Goblin continued, "Couldn't you have found a smarter servant?"
"He is... malleable," the demon said in a low purr as it flexed its hands as though working clay. The ebon claws gleamed darkly as they curved through the air. "I can make of him whatever I will." Its lips curled in evil pleasure at this thought. "I have made such interesting playthings in the past." A forked tongue flicked out from between the demon's fangs to taste the air.
"You need a better quality servant," Goblin suggested casually. "Someone who is highly intelligent. Someone who already has power and the skill to use it. Someone who can better serve your interests. Someone more like me."
Jack had to resist the urge to turn his shotgun on Goblin, and shook his head in disbelief. Had he actually heard Goblin offer himself to serve the demon? It wasn't easy to keep the weapon pointed at the demon; of the two, Jack thought that Goblin was by far the more dangerous. However, Jack trusted the Randgrith mage, regardless of what he might say. Jack only hoped that the mage knew what he was doing. There are many tales of just how great a folly it is to make any sort of agreement with a demon.
As the demon appeared to consider Goblin's words, Goblin said enticingly, "Get rid of Harald Scroupe. Wouldn't you prefer to have a servant like me?"
"Enough, human," the demon said in a quiet hiss. "Scroupe is mine. Forever. Take heed of my warning and cease to meddle, or I will devour you." The demonic voice faded along with the glow that had accompanied it. The space it had occupied was now empty, marked only by two scorched marks in the earth where the taloned feet had stood. Osiric and the other members of the company who had been in the other camp came cautiously out of the darkness as Jack turned an emotionless look on Goblin. The mage returned the spy's gaze for a moment then nodded slightly. It was an acknowledgement that Jack alone had stood with him to face the demon.
"What in hell was that?" Hannabryn demanded as Osiric walked up. Osiric grinned in appreciation of the unintentional pun.
"That," Goblin said with some satisfaction, "was an avatar of a demon. Not the demon itself, but merely a manifestation of some part of its consciousness. Don't worry about it."
Jack could see that Hannabryn was a little miffed at being put off so easily. "What does it want with you? What have you been doing to it?"
"Nothing, yet," was Goblin's reply. "But I tell you this; if I am the biggest concern that thing has, then it's not really that much to be troubled about." Jack recognized that tone. Goblin would say no more on the subject. Hannabryn asked a few more questions and got no answers. Goblin took Osiric off a ways for a private conference as the rest of us tried to return to our slumber. This would prove to be difficult for some. Hannabryn, at least, was restless. After all, a visit by a demon is scarcely an everyday occurrence, particularly not where the innkeepers daughter was from. Ah, well. If that was the only demon she has to contend with in her dreams, then Jack considered her lucky.
The next day everyone was a bit cranky. Lack of sleep plus an unusual nervousness had them all on edge. Jack knew they were all thinking about the demon -- what they might have done if it had attacked, and how effective those actions would have been. Knowing so little about the demon, they had no idea whether they could actually hurt it. This led to an unfamiliar doubt. Goblin was the only one that seemed completely unaffected.
The following evening passed in a somber atmosphere and they bedded down with little conversation. Jack hadn't been sleeping well, and woke up quite early for his watch, which was directly after that of Goblin's acquaintance, Kalladen. Jack lay there watching the stars and attuning his senses to the night. Beneath the sigh of the wind he heard a strange muttering sound. The previous night's visitation had left Jack sensitive to anything unusual, and he held himself still with his pulse pounding as he strove to locate the source of the sound. Jack felt a fatalistic lack of surprise when he realized the source of the sound was Kalladen, talking in a low voice. Jack raised his head slightly and took a careful look around, but he didn't see any visitors for Kalladen to be speaking with.
Jack was immediately suspicious. Having met one demonic servant, and been visited by an avatar of the demon itself, he was ready to accept the possibility that Kalladen served the demon Ramthanadox as well. This could explain a lot, including why Goblin hadn't heard from his elder brother, One-eye - a skilled mage who Jack suspected knew more than most about demons. With slow, stealthy movements, Jack stood. His shotgun was in his hands, and this time it was pointed squarely at the strange man who professed to be One-eye's trusted servant. Jack started toward Kalladen, who must have heard Jack because he stilled suddenly and then turned. Kalladen was trying to appear casual, but something in his eyes belied his careful pose.
"Early for your watch, Jack," the dark eyed man said with studied carelessness as he showed his empty hands. He could not ignore the fact that Jack's shotgun was pointed at him. "What's wrong?"
"Who were you talking to?" Jack demanded quietly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kalladen replied with studied innocence. "I wasn't talking."
Jack looked at Kalladen for a moment with his eyes narrowed. Jack didn't believe him. Something stirred in the depths of Jack's mind. He lies, whispered a familiar cold voice inside. He's hiding something dangerous. Kalladen could read Jack's disbelief and he opened his mouth to say something else. With one smooth movement Jack placed the end of his shotgun's barrel in the man's open mouth.
Kalladen blanched and he froze. He did not try to step back, because he could tell Jack would blow his head off. There is no missing with a shotgun at that range. There wouldn't be much left of Kalladen's skull if Jack pulled the triggers. Kalladen held himself tensely still.
Jack took two long, even breaths, and then asked in a deadly purr, "Who were you talking to?"
Kalladen swallowed with difficulty and gave a minute shake of his head. They stood frozen there for a full minute as Jack considered killing the strange man simply on the strength of his suspicion. Kalladen's life was balanced on a razor's edge for that minute, as Jack ached to pull the trigger and end the threat. He knew, with an intuition as certain as he knew the color of the sky on a sunny day. Jack knew that Kalleden was dangerous. And yet, he wouldn't be able to prove it to Osiric, who would be repulsed by the idea of a summary execution in cold blood. Various conflicting oaths and responsibilities warred within Jack, but in the end he chose to let the man live. For now.
Jack slowly withdrew the barrel of his gun from Kalladen's mouth and said, "We'll let Osiric decide what is to be done." Kalladen sagged with relief.
Jack marched Kalladen over to the other camp. It was Osiric's watch, still, and as they approached the Randgrith lord raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"Lord Osiric," Jack began, "I need to talk to you."
"What's going on, Jack?" Osiric asked.
Jack shook his head. "I woke early for my watch, and I heard Kalladen talking to someone. But there was no one around. When I asked him who he was talking to, he denied that he was talking at all." Jack recited bluntly. "I felt that you should decide how to handle the matter." Jack didn't explain how nearly he had almost decided the opposite, though Kalladen's pale face and sweat-stained shirt may have been clues.
Osiric turned to look at Kalladen. "Well?" he asked quietly.
"I was just talking to myself," Kalladen muttered sullenly. "I do that sometimes. Doesn't hurt anyone. I didn't admit it because Jack made such a big deal out of it that I was afraid."
Osiric ignored the openly skeptical look on Jack's face as he asked the Randgrith spy calmly, "Would you get Goblin, Jack?"
"If you will draw your pistol, my lord," Jack said pointedly.
Osiric drew his pistol and pointed it at Jack's captive. Varth had awakened at the disturbance and taken Osiric's place at watch, and as Jack passed him on the way to the wagon camp the young assassin asked, "What's happening?"
"I'll tell you later," Jack murmured. Varth just nodded.
Jack shook Goblin awake and quietly said, "I caught Kalladen talking to thin air, but he denied it. Osiric has a few questions. He'd like you to join him."
Goblin frowned as he rose to his feet. Without saying a word he preceded Jack to where Osiric held Kalladen at gunpoint.
"What do you know of this?" Osiric asked as Goblin arrived.
"Could we speak privately, my lord?" Goblin asked with an unreadable look in Jack's direction.
Osiric considered. "Why don't you go keep watch on the other camp, Jack. Hannabryn is alone over there."
Jack bowed a short bow and walked coolly away. Goblin was obviously angry -- he no doubt felt that Jack was meddling in his business. Jack didn't care. The danger he sensed from Kalladen was not magical. That meant that Goblin's expertise was not really applicable, and he might not even be able to recognize the threat. This, however, was Jack's area of expertise. And at least now Osiric was warned against anything Kalladen might try, as would be everyone else.
Jack stopped in the space between the two camps and Varth materialized out of the darkness. Jack briefly outlined the night's events, and Varth fingered his dagger as he thought.
"Do you want me to kill him?" Varth asked easily.
"Not yet." Jack replied with a sigh. "If we were going to kill him, I should have just blown his head off. But keep an eye on him, and don't feel hesitant to stop him if you see him acting against us." Varth nodded. He understood what Jack meant by 'stop him'.
Jack returned to the wagon camp and proceeded to watch. After some minutes, Goblin and Kalladen returned. Jack was disappointed but not surprised as Kalladen dug through his pack for a clean shirt. He had expected as much. Goblin took Jack's elbow and led him a small distance away.
Goblin seemed uncomfortable as he said to Jack, "I vouch for Kalladen, Jack. Leave him alone. I gave my word to keep him safe while he is with us."
Now, Goblin was not Jack's lord, or a lord at all, though he did bear the Randgrith Blood. He had given up his standing when he chose to pursue the craft of magic. Jack wasn't obligated to obey Goblin's commands. While Osiric clearly had acceded to Goblin's wishes in this matter, certain things needed to be made clear. "You don't mind if I get confirmation of your instructions from Osiric, do you?" Jack asked tonelessly. Goblin looked hurt and offended as Jack pulled his arm free and walked away.
"Going to wear a path in the dirt soon," Varth observed as Jack walked past. Jack grinned wryly; there had been quite a lot of traffic in the past few minutes.
Osiric sat on the ground with a troubled frown. He looked up at Jack as he drew near, and motioned for Jack to have a seat opposite him. As Jack folded himself down and rested his shotgun in the crook of his arm, Osiric spoke. "Goblin vouches for him," the Randgrith lord said helplessly. "I trust your judgement, but without evidence, what can I do?"
"Nothing, Osiric," Jack replied. "I had the same problem. I just wanted you to be aware and on your guard."
"That I will certainly be," Osiric said grimly. "And I almost hope he does try something."
"My lord, who is Kalladen?" Jack asked insistently. "Why is he with us? Goblin must have told you something," the Randgrith spy trailed off at a loss.
Osiric nodded. "I'll tell you what I know, though that is scarce enough. Since questions have been raised, you may need this information to do your duty. Kalladen arrived bearing a letter from Goblin's brother, One-eye." Jack knew One-eye. He was also a mage, as was Goblin's other brother Silent. They had all taken use-names so that their true-names might not be used against them. Osiric continued, "Evidently the letter stated that Kalladen was One-eye's trusted servant, and that Kalladen was being hunted by the Bevyar. To keep him safe, One-eye sent Kalladen to Goblin. Goblin feels duty-bound to accede to his brother's wishes and provide protection for Kalladen. It seems that Goblin has made Kalladen a promise that he would not be harmed while under Goblin's protection." Osiric grimaced as he finished, "That's really all I know. Doesn't seem like much, now that I think about it."
Jack wasn't pleased by this information - or rather the lack of it. He knew that Goblin would not answer any questions he might have, but Jack was worried. He knew One-eye, but the last time Jack had seen the older mage, he had not had a servant.
"Had Goblin met Kalladen before his arrival with the letter?" Jack asked absently as his mind chewed over the problem.
"No," Osiric replied slowly. "I don't think so. I think Kalladen was unknown to Goblin."
"Did he ask questions of Kalladen to prove that he knew One-eye? He should have been able to demonstrate a certain familiarity with One-eye's appearance and habits - things that Goblin would recognize." There was some flaw in Kalladen's story that Jack's mind had noticed, but it wouldn't quite come clear.
"We were busy, Jack," Osiric defended Goblin. "He was looking for Scroupe, then dealing with that mirror, and preparing for this journey." But then the Randgrith lord had to grudgingly admit "But I don't think it even occurred to him."
Probably not. For all Goblin's secretiveness -- a product of the fact that being known as a mage could get you lynched in some places, and ostracized in most others -- he wasn't a terribly suspicious person. Jack did assume that he could recognize One-eye's handwriting, so the letter must either be genuine or a truly excellent forgery. But to not verify the identity of a messenger you have never met?
"So Kalladen might not be the real Kalladen," Jack concluded. "The real Kalladen could have been replaced en-route. We've done nothing to eliminate that as a possibility," he pointed out. "The letter could even have been an excellent forgery."
Osiric shot a startled glance at Jack and demanded sharply, "Do you have some reason for believing that Kalladen is not who he says he is? Or are you just speculating?"
"You know me too well, my lord," Jack admitted ruefully. "I do have a reason, but it seems pretty slim. Mages in this day and age are in a precarious position. It is not unusual for the common people to stone a person suspected of practicing magic." Osiric nodded agreement and gestured gracefully that Jack should continue.
"Well, it seems odd to me that One-eye -- a highly intelligent and canny mage who has lived a long time with this kind of attitude -- would have as his trusted servant a person who has the habit of talking to themselves."
Osiric's eyes narrowed as he took Jack's point, but the experienced spy drove it home. "Wouldn't it be dangerous to risk the wrong person overhearing the wrong mutterings? Either Kalladen is not One-eye's servant, or he lied about the habit of talking to himself. Either way, I find it sufficient reason to distrust him."
A disturbed Osiric responded, "I see. What do you recommend?"
"There's not much we can do until we can prove that he has done something to violate Goblin's protection. I'll alert the others, and we can keep a careful eye on him." Jack stood and stretched. "You should get some rest, my lord. Perhaps it will all come to nothing."
"Perhaps," Osiric responded with a faint smile. "Sleep well, Jack."
Jack paused on the way back to the wagon camp for what he hoped would be the last time to apprise Varth of his conclusions regarding Kalladen. With both of them watching Jack had hopes that they might discover something.
Goblin glowered as Jack returned. Kalladen was in his bedroll, apparently asleep. "You vouch for him, old man?" Jack asked coolly.
"I do," Goblin responded in a low and dangerous voice.
"Very well. Until he violates your protection he is safe from me." Jack didn't feel it necessary to mention his conviction that the supposed servant had already acted in such a way as to violate the guest bond. Jack merely needed to prove it.
During the next several days Jack watched Kalladen like a hawk. The servant maintained a stiff courtesy, but Jack's presence obviously made him uncomfortable. Kalladen didn't talk to himself again while Jack was around, but Hannabryn mentioned that she had heard Kalladen muttering one evening while Jack was over in the main camp talking with Osiric.
Jack had also started noticing little things about the servant that weren't quite right. He reacted wrongly to certain topics of conversation. The Bevyar, for instance. Whenever that subject would come up, which it did occasionally -- most of the group were Randgrith, after all, and there was blood feud between the two Houses -- there would be a delay before Kalladen reacted with a mixture of fear and anger. Almost as though the servant had to remember that he was supposed to react that way.
Other topics drew unusual interest from the mysterious servant -- such as the one time Varth alluded to certain arcane skills he was learning from Unkus related to stealth in the woods. Kalladen's curiosity was a little too instant and intense. He also watched Varth too carefully as Varth trained in the broad sword with Captain Angrenbor. Evaluating. Jack had seen that look on experienced warriors sizing up an opponent.
However, days were passing and they were making progress. Nearly half way to Caernadruin nothing else had happened. Jack was almost prepared to let the matter drop until Kalladen should act against them. Then Varth rode up beside Jack one morning and said in the Pictish tongue that Jack had been trying to learn, "I don't trust that stranger."
"Why not?" Jack asked in the same language.
"I've been noticing some strange things," Varth replied slowly, giving Jack time to understand. "Something's just not right about him."
As Jack worked on his Pictish, the two compared notes. Varth had noticed different things than Jack, but they added up the same -- Kalladen wasn't what he represented himself to be, and he had a secret agenda. Jack's conviction that the servant represented some sort of danger came back full force, and he decided to do something about it.
"Let me think about it," Jack stumbled out. "There might be something we can do."
That evening Jack watched Kalladen even more closely than before, trying to get a feel for his patterns of behavior. Looking to see where he might be hiding evidence that Jack might use. Fortune smiled strangely upon Jack that night. As they started to make camp, they could hear strange, haunting howls in the distance. Jack hadn't heard anything like them before; they sounded like something larger than a wolf or coyote. Jack looked at Varth, who shrugged.
"It might be what One-eye referred to as a nightstalker in his letter," Goblin said unexpectedly. They were all by the wagon getting water. "He said to beware of them."
"A nightstalker it is indeed," Caradoc announced heartily as he returned from examining the perimeter of our camp. "Big, hairy, smelly things with lots of claws. They hard to kill," the Randgrith hunstman told them, "got amazing endurance. They're not very bright, though. We're a fairly large party, so it probably won't bother us," Caradoc predicted. Fortune must have fairly chuckled at that.
Intermittent howls punctuated conversations through the evening as they set up our camp. It might have been Jack's imagination, but it sounded like the howls were getting closer. Nothing had yet attacked when Jack lay down in his blankets, so he dropped off to sleep with his usual ease. Hours later, Jack woke suddenly as Kalladen walked near to his bedroll.
"Your watch, Jack," Kalladen said curtly. Jack simply looked at the servant until he turned around and walked away. Then Jack slowly lowered the hammer of his pistol and flipped back the blanket which had been covering it. Jack liked that blanket -- it had an interesting pattern in shades of gray. It would have been a shame to have put a hole in it.
Jack thrust his pistol through his belt and picked up his trusty shotgun. He took a careful circuit of the camp, and scanned the darkness. Jack didn't see the watcher in the other camp, but that was no surprise. Unkus shared this watch with Jack, and like Varth, Unkus would not be seen unless he wanted to be. Jack didn't see anything unusual, so he returned to a point a little way from the wagon and settled down tailor-fashion to meditate.
I am the fire within.
The fire burns within the void,
the void centers within the spirit,
the spirit soars within the mind,
the mind is the I.
I am the fire within.
The chant was taken from the Malcaera Spyrytaem - the Spryte family histories. Jack had found it a useful focus for his sean-aoidh meditations. His senses grew paradoxically sharper but less distinct. Sean-aoidh senses came as a gestalt, and Jack's an-aigneadh consciousness did not separate out different senses or events. Everything simply flowed together. Jack's consciousness still existed, of course, but linear thought did not exist. It had been hard the first time Jack achieved this meditational state; the change in perceptual mode confused him. Jack had been used to dealing with one sense at a time, and with one event at a time. Hearing, perhaps, a single sound. That was no longer possible. And yet, if the consciousness relaxed and accepted the whole of the information, it was very effective.
An interesting byproduct of this gestalt perception was that there appeared to be senses included which weren't the normal five which humans have. Jack could sense life energies, and even, to some degree, strong emotional states. It was difficult to sneak up on a Teinne Doigh adept while he meditated, especially with hostile intent. Which was why Osiric had wanted to keep watch this way.
After a few minutes Jack was in a deepening trance, and these thoughts faded away to be replaced by simpler, less distracted mind flows. Jack could sense the chaotic energies of the mirror wane and ebb, but he did not let them draw him in. Jack felt the sleeping energies of his companions -- even Kalladen was asleep. Jack knew where Unkus was, though the Pict was awake. Jack's breathing was deep and steady, and he stilled himself with infinite patience to watch and wait.
About half the way through the watch, Jack's breathing was still even, his mind still focused, when he heard a howling roar close at hand. The howl of a nightstalker less than a hundred yards away. The thing came lumbering out of the night with remarkable speed, with ungainly strides taking up huge stretches of ground with each thudding footfall. It was as large as a bear, but proportioned differently. Its arms were longer and oddly jointed, and covered with a coarse, matted fur. The paws were longer and thinner than a bear's, sporting a set of wicked claws. The head was just hideous. An elongated snout with a forward projecting lower jaw was filled with three-inch fangs. A heavy brow sat over tiny dark eyes, while two hairless, pointed ears lurched atop the skull like fleshy fungi. In all, a most unappetizing creature. In less than a minute, it would be upon them. Jack rose calmly to rouse the others, beginning with Goblin.
"Awake!" Jack bellowed as he grabbed Goblin's shoulder, suppressing a faint grin as the old man shot bolt upright and clutched at his axe.
"Awake!" Jack shouted again as he turned toward the other camp. "A nightstalker attacks!" He heard confused noises and shouts from the other camp as his friends scrambled for their weapons.
That part of his duty done, Jack returned to the edge of the camp to face the on-rushing beast. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder, but the creature was still too far away for greatest effect. Caradoc had said that the nightstalkers were difficult to kill, and Jack wanted to get the most out of his two barrels of shot. Goblin joined Jack as the seconds ticked slowly and softly past. Their companions from the other camp were rushing towards the nightstalker, but they were farther away, and Jack and Goblin appeared to be its intended prey. Jack let the creature close to twenty feet, still at a full charge.
Jack's breath eased out and paused, and he squeezed both triggers. A tremendous crackling explosion seemed to occur as smoke belched out of the barrels of Jack's shotgun. The nightstalker staggered and lost the momentum of its charge. It seemed confused for a minute as it looked at Jack, then it raised its massive arms and sent huge claws tearing through the air as it roared a massive challenge -- which would, no doubt, have been deafening had Jack's ears not still been ringing from the blast of the shotgun. Blood gleamed darkly on the furred side of the beast, but it seemed barely hurt.
Varth rushed out of the darkness at the nightstalker, which turned to meet Varth's charge with another fearsome roar. The creature lashed out with frightening speed to send its claws digging bloody furrows across Varth's chest. Suddenly Varth was fighting a desperate defensive battle with the remainder of his companions still some distance away.
Goblin was muttering and making arcane gestures, and suddenly flung out one hand as if throwing something at the nightstalker. Jack saw no visible effect, but the old mage seemed satisfied. Varth appeared to be having an easier time of it now -- though the nightstalker had struck him twice more, the wounds had not been as serious as the first. Jack knew that even Varth couldn't take that kind of punishment forever. He sprinted toward the two combatants, circling slightly to place himself behind the beast.
Varth had seen Jack's approach, and was simply fending the nightstalker off and keeping its attention. The two had discussed this tactic many times in the past. Varth would charge into the center and keep the opponents' attention, while Jack would sneak about and savage them from behind. This would be the first opportunity to test this tactic. Varth had the nightstalker's total attention as Jack paused behind it. Jack's meditation had been deep and clean, and it still wrapped its silence around him. Focusing his sean-aoidh, Jack thrust at the broad and hairy back looming before him. He aimed for where he hoped the heart and spine would be, hoping to put the beast down with a single blow. As Jack's blade slid easily into the nightstalker's body, he let his sean-aoidh flow down the steel to add its power to the strike. The nightstalker shuddered, and its roar choked off into an almost human gasp. As Jack slid his blade out of the monster's back, it crumpled slowly to the ground. Varth and Jack looked at each other over the mound of hair and flesh.
"Caradoc was right," Varth said. "It stinks."
Jack released his meditation and laughed. "Aye, that it does, my friend. I don't suppose you'd like to keep its skin?"
"For what?" Varth asked as Osiric pounded to a clanking halt. "To keep the women away?"
"Varth can use his own odor for that," Osiric said as he panted. "He doesn't need any help!"
They all laughed as Varth put on an offended look. As Goblin began to patch Varth up, Jack knelt down to examine the dead monster. Up close, it was even uglier.
"A nightstalker," Caradoc said from behind Jack. "That's a tale to impress your friends."
"All my friends already know it," Jack countered. Caradoc chuckled and sauntered away. Still, the Randgrith lord had a point. Jack pulled out his knife and started to cut out the beast's claws. He might find a use for them sometime. Proof for the grandchildren, maybe, in the unlikely event that he should live so long.
Jack was thoughtful as he finished his watch. One of the most interesting things about the attack by the nightstalker was Kalladen's behavior. He wasn't in the fight at all, though he moved like a trained fighting man. Goblin had told the servant to hide behind a tree. What was interesting was what the man took with him. When Goblin commanded that Kalladen go behind a tree, Kalladen had grabbed up his belt. The belt carried a sword and a pouch, but Kalladen hadn't even touched the sword. At the time Jack had been deep in the Teinne Doigh trance, and he trusted the feelings he had in that state. Jack wanted to know what was in that belt pouch.
The next day, Jack talked again to Varth. He relayed his suspicions, and Varth was eager to do something about them.
"Varth," Jack asked, "do you have anything in your pouch of goodies that might put a man in a sound sleep?"
Varth considered. "Why, yes. I think I have just the thing. What do you have in mind?"
"I want to put him to sleep during his watch. Then we will see what clues there may be upon his person. And then..." Jack grinned a nasty grin, which Varth returned.
They were still be almost a full week short of Caernadruin. That night Varth refilled everyone's waterskins that evening, with a certain extra addition to Kalladen's water.
Jack looked through lowered lashes at the increasingly sleepy Kalladen. The servant sat down and leaned against a wagon wheel. So far, things were working exactly as planned. That worried Jack, actually. In his experience, events never go as planned. He wasn't going to complain, though. It was still about an hour until Jack's watch, so he would wait until then to arise. Jack dropped into a light meditation to verify when Kalladen actually slept. The hour passed easily, and Jack stood up and did his usual check of the perimeter of the camp. He sat to meditate, and waited until he heard Varth's voice whispering near at hand.
"I'm here, Jack," Varth breathed.
Jack stood and began walking once again around the camp. As he passed near Kalladen he bent smoothly and grabbed the man's sword belt. The mysterious servant did not respond as Jack continued his circle with the belt and pouch dangling from his hand. As Jack passed the place he where Varth hid, he dropped the belt into the shadows. Jack continued a casual saunter as Varth dragged the belt to himself and began to rifle through it.
As Jack came around again, Varth hissed, "Look at these, Jack!"
Jack stepped into the shadows and joined Varth where he knelt in the darkness. The Randgrith assassin held up several stiffened paper rectangles -- cards of some sort, slightly larger than normal playing cards. Varth showed Jack one of the cards. The surface shimmered oddly, and it bore a likeness of a warrior. The darkness made it impossible to identify the likeness, but Jack could tell that the placard was beautifully rendered in colored inks or paints which had a rich depth of color amazing even in the graying shadows. Jack did not reach out to take the cards - they had decided that it was best if Jack never touched anything of Kalladens.
Jack's eyes narrowed as he considered Varth's find. Goblin had mentioned something like these cards once, which could be used to make mind-to-mind contact with the person depicted -- and even possibly transfer the user to the location of the person whose likeness was on the card. Jack was still in a light trance, and to his sean-aoidh sense the cards seemed to echo strangely. It was possible that these were examples of such magical devices. The work was too fine and obviously expensive to be affordable by the person Kalladen portrayed himself to be. And if they were a communication device, it would explain Kalladen's muttering. He had been communicating to one of the people shown here.
Varth slowly went through the cards and showed them to Jack. In the dim light it appeared that there was the one warrior figure, one princess, two sages, and one picture of a house. Jack was grimly determined that if these were a communication method, Kalladen would not be telling any more Randgrith secrets through them. Jack quickly explained his suspicions to Varth.
"What do you think we should do?" Varth asked in that calm tone which precedes violence.
"I want you to take them. Find a hollow tree, or some landmark, and hide them." Jack said as he came to a decision. "I don't want to know where. Just make sure you will be able to put your hands on them later if we need to." Unfortunately, the cards were not enough evidence to convict Kalladen - he could simply claim he had an appreciation for artwork. Even if Goblin confirmed them to be magical, Kalladen could deny knowledge of their properties. Jack had hopes, however, that removing them from the servant's reach would put a crimp in his activities.
Varth nodded and tucked the cards within his shirt. "I want to check his clothing, too," he informed Jack. "He might have something else of interest."
Jack nodded and resumed his circular march as Varth crept beneath the wagon and began going lightly through Kalladen's pockets. Several circuits of the camp later the assassin crept from beneath the wagon and motioned Jack over.
"Look what I found," Varth drawled as he held up three glass vials that had been wrapped in cloth. Each vial contained some liquid with what looked to be herbs ground up in it. Varth unstoppered one and sniffed gingerly at the contents, then dipped a finger in the liquid to feel it. Touching his finger lightly to his tongue, Varth smiled a bitter smile. "It's poison, Jack," he muttered. "The man is carrying poison."
Well, well. That was interesting. Another bit of evidence to count against him. The possession of poison betokened skills Kalladen wasn't admitting to. Varth suddenly grinned and pulled something from his belt. It was an empty vial similar in kind to those he had taken from Kalladen, and he proceeded to dump the contents of two of Kalladen's vials into his empty one. Then with a chuckle he proceeded to apportion up the remaining of Kalladen's poisonous potion between the three vials.
Once Jack realized what Varth was doing he said, "Good idea. Wait a second." Jack slipped over to his bags and pulled out dried herbs and salt. Jack returned to Varth and handed him the cooking seasons.
"Use the herbs to get the right consistency," Jack said as he topped the vials off with water. "Then put salt in it. We'll be able to tell by the excess salt if he tries to poison us." Faster than Jack could say it, Varth had the vials prepared.
Varth crawled beneath the wagon one more time to return the vials to their original location. He took Kalladen's water sack and emptied it. After rinsing and refilling, there was no evidence of the sleeping drought Varth had used. The Randgrith assassin and the Randgrith spy shared a conspiratorial grin as Varth slipped into the darkness to dispose of the cards. Jack settled down to his meditation with anticipation. It was going to be interesting to see the results of this night's work.
"Jack," Osiric called as he rode up beside Jack the next day. "I'd like to speak with you."
It was mid-afternoon, and so far nothing had been mentioned about Kalladen's lost cards. Jack had seen the servant talking privately to Goblin, and he had been agitated, but there had been no public scene. Jack had been a little disappointed at that, since he felt that he could outmaneuver Kalladen verbally, but he hadn't gotten the chance.
"Of course, my lord," Jack responded as he steeled himself for either questions or accusations.
"Captain Angrenbor gave me something interesting this morning," Osiric began in a confidential tone. "Five painted placards, each with the representation of a different person -- except for one which showed a house. Goblin says they are magical artifacts; devices for communication and possibly travel."
Jack hid his surprise and nodded thoughtfully. "Where did Ironfist get them?" Jack knew, of course. Varth must have given the cards to his mentor rather than hiding them in the woods.
"He said they were Kalladen's, though he would not say how they came into his possession," Osiric responded with a discomfited frown. "Jack, one of the cards is of One-eye!"
Jack let his surprise show this time as he said, "Kalladen had a means of communicating with One-eye? Does Goblin know?"
"Goblin tried the card showing One-eye. You use them by concentrating on the person depicted. When Goblin tried to reach One-eye, a raven flew out of the card croaking 'Denied!' One-eye's card appears blocked, somehow."
"Interesting. And the other cards?" Jack questioned.
Osiric refused to meet Jack's eye. "Well, I tried one of the cards myself," he admitted grudgingly. Osiric knew what Jack's response would be to his lord taking those kinds of unnecessary risks. "I tried the house, since I didn't want to talk to anyone." The Randgrith lord turned to look at Jack with concern. "Jack, it was remarkable. The picture came to life; I could see the trees waving and hear the wind. I could almost reach out and touch the place. I didn't, of course, but I believe I could have."
"And what was Goblin's response to Ironfist's claim that the cards had originally been Kalladen's?" Jack asked as his hands flexed slowly on the reigns.
"Goblin had already known that Kalladen had the cards," Osiric replied in a carefully non-judgmental tone. "He had been trying to get Kalladen to give them up so that Goblin could study them. He didn't know that one of the cards was One-eye's, though."
"He knew about the cards?" Jack repeated in disbelief. "He let the man keep known communication devices to unknown individuals? And when I heard the man muttering, Goblin still didn't feel it necessary to mention this? Did he at least ask who the people on the cards were?" Jack was appalled. How had Goblin lived so long?
"I recognized one of the people," Osiric replied. "It was Princess Moriana ap Morgon of Rheged. I saw her once at court. And of course, one of them is One-eye. I don't know whether Goblin asked about the others or not."
"Then maybe we should ask now," Jack offered as he turned in the saddle to look behind. They had drawn a bit ahead of the rest of the company trying to remain private. Jack pulled on the reigns to halt his horse as he peered at the group proceeding down the road behind them. "Blood and bones," Jack swore. "He's gone!"
Osiric jerked around and cursed. "I don't like this," the Randgrith lord spat. "Not at all! You will go after him. You have my permission to do whatever is necessary."
The two rode quickly back to where the wagon trundled steadily down the road. It was obvious that Osiric was angry, and everyone gathered around.
"Kalladen has fled," Jack explained. "I intend to hunt him. I have a few questions I want answers to." Osiric had settled back in his saddle to watch his hound at work. Jack shot an irritated glance at Goblin. "You can no longer protect him from me, old man."
Goblin frowned. "You go with my blessing. I gave him my word that he would be safe as long as he was under my protection. He came to me this morning and told me that he had been drugged last night, and he didn't feel safe with us any more. I told him to leave the company as we traveled today," Goblin responded in a sour tone. "I had begun to have doubts about him. Now that he has gone of his own will, he is no longer under my protection. My honor is satisfied, and I don't care what you do."
"And did your honor compel you to protect him when I caught him using those cards?" Jack pressed.
"He told me this morning that he had been trying to reach One-eye," Goblin growled as he began to grow irritated in return.
"I thought the process of contact was a mental one," Jack sneered. "Did he really need to speak for that?"
Goblin shook his head as his troubled look returned.
"Enough, Jack," Osiric commanded. Jack inclined his and turned from Goblin to face the others.
"Varth, Caradoc, are you with me?" Jack asked his friends. The both answered in the affirmative, as he had known they would.
"Hannabryn," Jack continued, "would you like to accompany us? I think Goblin should stay with Osiric," and the wagon, Jack continued to myself. "And Captain Angrenbor. But we may need another on the search."
"Of course," Hannabryn replied calmly, though her pale face belied her nervousness.
"That's it, then, my lord," Jack said to Osiric as the others readied themselves. "You keep travelling on, and we will ride back to that last town we were in." Jack could recall seeing Kalladen as we rode into town, but couldn't remember seeing the servant after. "We'll rejoin you as soon as possible."
"Good hunting," Osiric murmured. "Don't get yourself killed, though."
"Not to worry, Osiric," Jack muttered back. "I have too much to do. I'll be careful." He gathered up his three troopers and they rode south at top speed.
It was not a large town -- a farming village, really. It had one tavern and one trading post, and two or three craftsmen. Jack had just come out of the trading post, where the shopkeeper had not seen anyone of Kalladen's description. Hannabryn had gone to check the tavern. These seemed like the most likely places for a man on the run to be seen. Jack heard a shout from down the street.
"Jack!" Caradoc bellowed. "Come on! He's already left!"
Jack winced, then jogged toward his horse. So much for the little town's peace. He vaulted into the saddle and wheeled around to join Caradoc, Varth, and Hannabryn as they turned to ride back out of the north end of the town. "Where?" Jack asked.
"Don't know," Hannabryn replied with equal brevity.
Varth and Caradoc began to circle the town looking for recent tracks. After about half an hour, they had found four different trails. The older two were more than a couple of hours old, so they could be ignored. The other two trails were each less than an hour old. One went east, and the other went west. That meant that we would either have to split up, or risk taking the wrong trail. Varth and Jack set off to follow the eastern trail, as Caradoc and Hannabryn rode west.
Varth and Jack rode hard, since the trail was not difficult to follow. Forty minutes later, they spotted a rider. Pressing their horses, they caught up to the rider quickly. Varth cut in front of the rider's galloping horse as Jack jerked the reigns from the hands of the frightened youth barely more than a boy. His face pale and drawn with fear, the young man sat silent as the two Randgrith warriors pulled the horses to a halt.
"Don't be afraid, boy," Jack said soothingly. "We're not about to rob you. We're after someone, and we can tell you are not he. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."
Jack released the reigns of the boy's horse, who began to breathe a little more easily.
Jack was careful to seem unthreatening as he continued coaxingly, "Now, we know you left that town back there," Jack still didn't know the place's name, "a little more than an hour ago. Did you see anyone else leaving the town about the same time?"
The young man relaxed as he began to believe that they really weren't after him. "Yes, sir," he replied. "There was a man riding east as I left. A stranger."
From the description the youth proceeded to give, it sounded like Kalladen - even down to the horse - one of Osiric's, of course. Jack looked at Varth. That meant that Caradoc and Hannabryn were hot on the trail of someone whom Varth and Jack suspected was a professional assassin. After giving the young man a silver noble for his assistance, they galloped back toward the east.
The trail to the east led through a hilly, rocky country that was heavily forested. They pushed our horses, which were beginning to tire. Two hours later they spotted a horse plodding slowly toward them. A bloodied and filthy Hannabryn sagged dangerously in the saddle. Her horse gratefully stopped as they rode up. Close up, Hannabryn looked even worse, and it was clear that she was on her last reserves of energy. Her face was pale and her breathing tortured. Varth and Jack gently pulled Hannabryn from the saddle and sat her against a tree. Crude bandages covered several scrapes and cuts, and roughly bound her ribs. Jack sent Varth to get bandages and ointment from his saddlebags as he worked loose the knots Caradoc had made in the bandages contrived from Hannabryn's cloak. Working quickly but carefully, Jack washed each of Hannabryn's wounds and bound them with ointment and fresh linen. Her head lolled back against the tree as Jack worked. Hannabryn had several broken ribs, which needed to be immobilized to prevent them from damaging her lungs. Varth leaned the young woman forward as Jack gently but firmly wrapped her ribs with strips of cloth over a pad made of folded leather. Her breath hissed from between her teeth as Jack pulled the wrapping tight, but she did not complain.
Once Jack was finished, he sat back on his heels to repack his kit.
"What happened?" Varth asked Hannabryn.
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Wednesday, April 02, 2008
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Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
About half an hour later things were arranged to everyone’s satisfaction, and they all assembled in Delwyn’s spacious study. The messenger was absent, and Osiric’s expression was troubled.
"Lady Fiona’s been kidnapped," Osiric said without preamble. "She and Squire Eowyn were taken while surveying the Dumni lands. The five armsmen she had with her were slain with arrows, guns, and spears. There has as yet been no ransom note, though the kidnapping is only hours past, so there hasn’t been time. I don’t want to wait -- I want to act immediately, before the culprit has time to get everything the way he wants it. Suggestions?" The Randgrith lord looked around expectantly.
Though Jack was sure it had occurred to everyone already, it had to be spoken. "It’s Scroupe, of course," he said calmly. Jack was relieved; he hadn’t liked the idea of leaving Scroupe around while Osiric was gone, and this would give them a chance to resolve the matter. Jack felt guilty that concern for Lady Fiona wasn’t his first reaction, but after all, he didn’t know the lady that well. Besides, it would probably be Jack’s life risked first when it came time to attempt Lady Fiona’s rescue.
"Do we know where she was taken?" Caradoc asked with carefully controlled intensity.
"Yes," Osiric responded. "She was taken on the southern edge of her lands. The messenger will take us to the site of the attack."
"Then I’m going," Caradoc said as he thrust himself to his feet. "You can catch up with me." He started toward the door.
"Wait, Caradoc," Jack said firmly. Caradoc paused, at least half in surprise that Jack would speak to him like that. Jack looked back at Osiric. "Varth should go with Caradoc," he urged, "and at least four soldiers. We can form up some more troops and follow as soon as they send us word that they have found the trail. Caradoc should be able to give us some idea of the number of attackers. We don’t want to be outnumbered too greatly. We should have no problem catching up since they’ll be following a trail."
Osiric nodded and said, "Varth, do as Jack suggests. Send one of the soldiers back to let us know what you find."
Varth grinned and stood to follow Caradoc out the door. Just before the door closed, he winked at Jack. Jack knew the young assassin was looking forward to some action. The tension had been getting to them both.
After they had gone, Goblin said to Osiric, "I think we should leave half the soldiers here. This could be intended to draw us out of the castle. We need to leave a significant force of defenders to slow any attack."
"I agree," Osiric returned. "Jack, find Captain ap’Owen for me, please."
Jack jumped up and jogged down to the training grounds in the courtyard where Captain ap’Owen usually spent this part of the morning drilling his troops. Jack stood at the edge of the group of men until he caught the mercenary captain’s eye, and waved him over. As the Captain walked forward, Jack saw Caradoc and Varth ride out the gate followed by four soldiers and Unkus. He should have known the Pict would tag along with Varth. Jack gave the captain a quick overview of the situation, and the two strode back to Osiric’s study. Osiric gave the mercenary instructions to select sixteen more men -- Varth had commandeered the four that had been scheduled to ward the roads -- and get them ready to move. ap’Owen saluted and sped away to do his duty. Goblin left right behind him muttering something about making sure that "it" was safe while they were gone. Jack assumed he meant the mirror.
"Well, Jack," Osiric said as he stood and stretched muscles tight from too much tension. "What do you think?"
"I think we should take enough food for a while, and if we pursue Scroupe far enough north, perhaps we should just continue on toward Brythonos." Jack said thoughtfully. "I think everything here is pretty well set up?" He looked at his liege lord inquiringly.
Osiric nodded. "We were about ready to go anyway. I guess there’s nothing more that needs to be done that my cousin couldn’t handle." He rubbed his eyes then lifted his chin. "Very well, get what we’d need together," he said decisively. "You probably only have an hour or so before Varth’s messenger returns." Osiric turned away as Jack moved to the door. Jack left the Randgrith lord gazing out the study window as Jack too went to do his duty.
As he rode carefully through the underbrush, Jack could hear the crunch of hooves behind him. Jack and Varth had both had the same idea when they saw the horseman in the middle of the road holding a white flag -- the traditional symbol of parley. Both men had guided their horses off to the left of the road. Since Varth had been near the end of the column and Jack near the beginning, there was about a hundred feet between them. Jack was going around a stand of three trees in an attempt to get up even with the rider as he stopped his horse and waited. Jack continued walking his horse forward, being careful not to appear as if he was about to charge the bandit messenger.
"We have your lady. If you ever want to see her again, you better do like we say," the man shouted smugly.
"What are your terms, pig!" Caradoc snarled in return. Jack could see Caradoc sighting narrowly down an arrow at the bandit. The man hesitated. He could see Caradoc considering his death, and he wasn’t sure whether to continue.
"You’d better tell me your terms, or you are going to die, scum," Caradoc was getting angry. Osiric was talking to his cousin, and Caradoc was responding, but Jack was too far away to hear the exchange. It looked like Osiric was trying to calm Caradoc down, but that rarely worked. The bandit started to look nervously about him.
"You really better speak up, man," Jack lifted his voice. "He will kill you if he loses patience. Just tell us the terms." The bandit shot a startled look at Jack and swallowed as he stared down the barrel of Jack’s pistol.
"I’m going to count to three," Caradoc said. His voice was no longer raised, almost as if he was hoping the outlaw would not hear. "Then I am going to kill you." It was not an empty threat, and Jack could tell from the outlaw’s pale sweating face that he knew it.
"One." The outlaw tried to clear his throat.
"Two." The man’s hands twitched on the reigns, making his horse step nervously in place. The outlaw’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Three." Caradoc shifted his aim slightly and released his arrow. A hole appeared in the white cloth of the flag. Caradoc had intentionally missed - he had only wanted to frighten the man. The tactic worked too well, unfortunately. The outlaw cursed and wheeled his horse around to flee. As he did, a crackle of gunfire reached Jack’s ears and smoke appeared along the tree line back from either side of the road. Six or eight muskets, Jack thought, as Caradoc reeled in his saddle. Caradoc had been hit at least once, though it didn’t seem serious. Shaking off the pain, Caradoc kicked his horse into a gallop after the fleeing outlaw.
Jack fired his pistol at the bandit and missed. Urging his horse into a gallop, Jack followed. He couldn’t let Caradoc chase the man alone. Every few seconds Jack glanced back to see what was happening back at the parley site.
No one else appeared to have been hit in that first volley, and Osiric was directing the soldiers he had brought toward the tree line on the left side of the road. A few men were sent to help Goblin, who began casting his magic toward the opposite tree line. Varth had reached the heavy underbrush already, and he leaped from his horse to stalk toward the trees. So far, they had yet to see any of the enemy except for the man running away from Jack and Caradoc at breakneck speed.
An arrow sped by Jack to strike the bandit in the shoulder, and Jack looked back to see Caradoc grin in triumph. He was once again impressed with the Randgrith lord’s skill - it’s not easy to shoot from the back of a galloping horse and hit a target on the back of another galloping horse some thirty feet away. The outlaw reeled in his saddle but managed to keep his seat. Jack could see that he was badly wounded, and in a state of complete panic. Glancing again to Caradoc, Jack waved to get his attention.
"Don’t kill him," Jack shouted. "Just keep him running scared. We need to know where their camp is!" Jack wasn’t worried that the outlaw would hear him over the thunder of hooves and the pounding of his own heart. He wasn’t sure Caradoc could even hear him. The archer reassured Jack with a nod, and proceeded to keep the outlaw from thinking with several near misses.
After a few minutes, the bandit turned off the main road onto a side path. As they followed, Jack looked back down the road. Osiric had re-formed the men and was following us at a distance. As he saw Jack and Caradoc leaving the main road, Osiric waved to the soldiers and they began to gallop. Looking ahead, Jack could see the path began to rise up, and a hundred yards ahead the trail ran between two cliff-like bluffs.
"Kill him!" Jack shouted to Caradoc. "Kill him now! We aren’t following him through there!" Jack was impetuous at times, but not stupid.
Caradoc sighted up the slope and released his arrow. Jack imagined that he could hear the solid thunk it made even over the hoofbeats as it went into the outlaw’s back up to the fletching. The man slumped in his saddle, and then fell as the movement of the horse jolted him to the side. Caradoc and Jack started to reign in their steeds as the heavens opened up and the gods poured down thunder upon them. A deadly hail of lead enveloped the two as a cloud of gunpowder smoke erupted from the mouth of the defile ahead. Jack heard a cry from Caradoc as his horse fell from beneath him. Jack’s horse shuddered and jerked as it too began to fall. Leaping clear of the saddle, Jack crouched down behind his fallen steed. The sudden silence after the volley of gunfire was more deafening than the rifle reports themselves. A thick cloud of white smoke was between the two Randgrith men and the mouth of the canyon ahead, so they had cover for a few moments. Caradoc had been hit twice more, and he was cursing and groaning. He seemed badly hurt, and in no shape for more heroics.
Staggering to his feet, Caradoc yelled, "Come on, Jack! Let’s get out of here!"
"You go on!" Jack shouted back. "I’ll watch your back!" Caradoc began to stumble down toward the base of the hill. Jack had reloaded his pistol while lying behind his horse, and now he sighted down the barrel back through the smoke toward the canyon. To get to Caradoc, they would have to come through Jack. He didn’t really expect the outlaws to charge out to get them; Osiric and the soldiers were approaching quickly. The outlaws had surely seen them riding toward the slope. And as long as they didn’t charge out, Jack was fairly safe. He was a compact man, and he fit neatly behind the bulk of horse that shielded him. Here, Jack was closer than anyone else could safely get, and he might be able to find some way to take advantage of that fact.
As the smoke slowly drifted away like a forgetful ghost, Jack saw that he had been correct. There was no more activity from the outlaw camp except for occasional shots toward Jack just to make sure he didn’t get too comfortable. He relaxed slowly, and started to feel the twinges of pain here and there. Mostly bruises and scrapes; it’s impossible to get off a falling horse without bruises. Jack had a grazing wound on his side - nothing serious, but he took a few moments to arrange a crude bandage and thank his ancestors that it hadn’t been worse. By the time he was finished with that, Osiric and his men had arrived at the base of the slope some hundred yards away. Goblin was patching up a severely wounded Caradoc as Osiric directed the men to emplacements. Osiric gazed worriedly up the slope toward Jack, who waved to let the Randgrith lord know he was fine. Osiric turned away, and Jack took a look at the arrangement of his men. Something was bothering him, and it took a few minutes to realize what it was; he saw no sign of Varth. Looking carefully around the encampment, Jack wasn’t able to locate Unkus either, so at least he knew they were together. Jack counted two extra horses, so they were afoot. Between the two of them, they should be able to avoid just about any trouble they might run into -- if they were smart enough try.
Caradoc was looking much better as Goblin left him sitting and strode over to Osiric. The two of them talked quietly, and Jack hoped they were coming up with a good plan. Siege and battle were not Jack’s area of expertise, but he itched to be down there planning with them. Jack did his best to relax and keep his muscles loose for the action. Eventually Osiric and Goblin seemed to agree on a plan, and Goblin walked out of sight behind some rocks. So, Jack mused, magic is to be used. Jack got ready to either be a distraction, or to take advantage of a distraction -- whichever looked like it might be most useful. Osiric had the men remount, and Jack was close enough to the outlaws to hear their shouts of concern. Yet Osiric did not charge or make any other sort of attack, he simply held the outlaws’ attention with a flair for drama Jack hadn’t realized he possessed.
Some minutes later, Jack heard shouting and gunfire from within the outlaw camp. In the noise, Jack heard shouts of "get the girl" and "shoot the old man". Jack laughed to himself. Goblin had gotten into the outlaws’ camp somehow, and was making off with their captive. Jack could see Osiric about ready to signal a charge out of alarm at the gunfire, but Jack waved him back - so far Goblin was doing fine on his own. It seemed the mage and the girl were about to make a clean getaway, from the disgruntled yells Jack could hear. Osiric settled back into his saddle and peered intently up at Jack and the cleft in the hillside. The shouting from the outlaw camp changed to cursing, and Jack heard an argument begin.
"What’re you gonna do now, big man? Your precious hostage is gone!" said one sneering voice.
"We’ll stand and fight, damn it! What are you, some whimpering girl?" another voice returned.
The voices continued arguing, and Jack heard blows exchanged. Well, now, this was certainly an interesting development. The hostage had gotten away? Only one hostage, and that hostage referred to as the girl. Jack guessed the hostage had been Squire Eowyn, which meant that Lady Fiona was elsewhere -- and probably Scroupe with her, the coward. And there was dissention amongst the outlaws. Perhaps Jack could help that along.
"Hey!" Jack shouted over the back of his horse. "You don’t have a hostage any more -- that means you don’t have a bargaining chip now!" He made his voice as hard as possible, "I’m going to give you one chance. Surrender now or we will kill you all!"
Jack’s words had obviously been heard by those inside the canyon, for the argument grew more fierce, and after a few moments, Jack heard the lovely crackle of gunfire. The outlaws were shooting each other. "Now!" Jack shouted to Osiric, waving him toward the mouth of the defile. Osiric had been waiting like some high-strung racing steed, and he signaled the charge immediately. Osiric’s soldiers charged up the hill and into the defile without a shot fired in their direction. Later Osiric would tell Jack that by the time of the charge, the outlaws had fired all their weapons at each other, and were embroiled in a vicious hand-to-hand melee. Jack didn’t expect the soldiers would have any difficulty overcoming the outlaws now, so he ran down the hill to meet Osiric as the Randgrith lord rode up after his men.
As Osiric pulled up, Jack grabbed his stirrup. "Where is Varth, my lord?" Jack asked breathlessly.
"The ambushers at the parley site escaped after firing the one volley. Varth and Unkus are tracking one group of them on a trail running roughly parallel to the road." Osiric gestured in the approximate direction. "Did Goblin get Lady Fiona?" Osiric asked in return.
Jack shook his head. "I think he got Eowyn. I bet Lady Fiona and Scroupe are elsewhere. Those men Varth is following might lead him to Scroupe’s hideout. I’d like to take some horses and catch up with Varth and Unkus. We’ll make better time if we are mounted."
Osiric inclined his head. "Do it, then. We’ll follow when we can." He turned his horse and urged it up the hill toward the sound of fighting.
Jack continued down the hill. Osiric had left a few soldiers behind to protect Caradoc and make sure they weren’t flanked. "I need three horses," Jack said to the corporal, who nodded as Jack grabbed up the reigns of two and mounted a third. Kicking at the horse’s sides, Jack rode off to find Varth.
"That’s it," said Unkus in a low voice. They were looking at a building carved into the living rock of a cliff side. "That’s where they went."
Varth was looking carefully around. "I’ve spotted at least two guards amongst those rocks out front," he said. "There are probably more."
Jack agreed. The place was not well maintained, and rocks that had fallen off the cliff face during the past unknown number of years had been left where they fell. These made good cover up close to the cliff face, and they could conceal quite a few people.
Jack had caught up with Varth and Unkus fairly quickly, though if the two hadn’t made their presence known as Jack rode past he would never have found them. The three had continued together on the trail of two of the ambushers until they had reached this place. They were crouched behind a large boulder now, but they had certainly been seen approaching. While Jack and Varth discussed what to do, they heard noises coming from the woods some distance away -- noises that indicated a large group moving in their direction. A man wearing armor and riding a horse appeared at the edge of the tree line. It was one of Osiric’s hired soldiers. He saw Jack and disappeared back into the trees. A few minutes later another rider came from the trees and rode over to them.
The soldier dismounted with a nod, and grinned at their looks of inquiry, "Lord Osiric sends greetings. Yon structure is an abandoned monastery, according to Lord Caradoc, who knows this area. He led us by a straighter route than yours, thinking that such a place would make a good den for bandits and outlaws. From the look of things, there is certainly someone here. Osiric intents to storm the defenders and enter the monastery. Once inside, we will be able to deal with Lady Fiona’s kidnappers." This last was said with a bloodthirsty scowl.
"How went the battle in the defile?" Jack asked. Jack had told Varth and Unkus the situation as he had last known it, and they were all curious.
"That lot? They weren’t a problem. They was too busy fighting each other to effectively fight us. There are no longer any bandits there," the soldier said with pride. Jack didn’t comment because he though these soldiers probably needed something to brag about, after the demoralizing defeat this same troop had suffered at Randgrith hands just a couple of months before.
When Osiric signaled the charge this time, Jack, Varth and Unkus charged also from the other side. Unkus killed one man with a beautiful musket shot as they charged up. Another of the defenders shot at Jack. He missed Jack, but Jack’s horse stumbled and fell. Jack leapt from the horse’s back and hit the ground running. Leaping over a small boulder, he closed with the man who had just killed his second horse of the day. In no mood for finesse, Jack jumped and kicked the man in the head, sending the outlaw spinning back into the boulder he had been hiding behind. He didn’t move after he fell, and his neck was at an odd angle. Jack turned to the final defender of this clump of rocks, but the outlaw was already falling from Varth’s blade. Osiric and his men took the other seven or eight defenders with as little difficulty, and they raced toward the door to the monastery. Jack was closest, and he was able to determine that the door was locked and barred from the inside. Jack’s sean-aoidh was still burning within him, so he stepped back and charged the door. As he kicked the door he let that inner fire flow down and through his leg. The door shuddered within its frame and cracks ran down the length of the wood, but it held. Undeterred, Jack spun away and leapt again toward the door. This time he held nothing back, and the door exploded away from Jack in splinters and shards as he struck it. Landing lightly, Jack noted the shocked looks on the faces of the hired soldiers around him.
As Jack stepped back from the empty room now exposed, several of the soldiers sighted someone peering through a second floor window. A number of the mercenaries fired their rifles at the window, sending stone and wooden splinters flying. Varth had the idea to climb up to a different second story window and flank the person hiding inside. Jack decided to join Varth, but Goblin beat them both by cheating and using his magic to fly up to yet another window. Nonetheless, Jack and Varth weren’t more than thirty seconds behind the old mage as they clambered through the window into an empty room. Stepping lightly toward the door, Jack entered the hallway just in time to hear a door slam on the opposite side of the hall. As they started down the hall, Goblin came out of a room with his axe held high. Nodding to them, the mage proceeded to kick open the door they had just heard closing. As the door gaped wide, a flash of pure white light flooded out of the room, painting Goblin’s shadow in stark contrasting black on the wall. Throwing up his arm too late, Goblin fell back against the wall, blinded.
Charging forward, Jack dived through the door at about waist height and hit the ground rolling. Continuing the roll until he was back on his feet, Jack crouched in a fighting stance, hands empty and slightly curved in front of me.
The room’s only occupant held its hands up and said, "Wait a second, will you? I’m no threat to you!" A note of fear and exasperation threaded through the high, smooth voice.
"High, smooth voice?" Jack said to himself. He took a closer look at the individual standing in front of him, acting almost painfully non-aggressive. It was a young woman near Varth’s age, dressed in the plain sturdy clothing favored by the peasant class.
"Jack? Kill?" a quiet eager voice came from the hallway.
"Wait a minute, Varth. Check on the old man, make sure he’s alright," Jack responded, never taking my eyes off the woman backed against the wall.
Muttered curses in an old man’s voice were followed by, "Sound’s like he’s alright to me. He’s as ornery as ever."
Reassured, Jack nodded to the girl. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"I’m hunting Lord Scroupe. When I find him, I intend to kill him," she said with quiet determination.
Jack laughed grimly. "You’ll have to stand in line for that honor, girl. Why are you hunting him?"
She didn’t seem offended by Jack’s laughter, which was a good sign. "I was raised by my great-aunt. She was an innkeeper with an inn near Caer Dumni. Scroupe had her killed." Her voice roughened with anger at the end.
"And that flash of light?" Jack asked pointedly. He was sure he knew what it was, since there was no smell of smoke or chemical.
The girl looked uncomfortable. "Well, my aunt was somewhat skilled with the magical arts. She was teaching me. I know a few things." Not surprising she was uncomfortable admitting it. In the wrong place, that confession could have gotten her killed. Of course, if she had lied to Jack, he would have killed her himself. Well, the story certainly fit. With Scroupe’s plans for taking over Dumni Holding, he wouldn’t have wanted Lady Fiona to have access to sorcery. Jack was just surprised he hadn’t had the girl killed too.
"Let me come with you," the girl asked urgently. "I can help, and I have a right."
Jack cocked his head to one side. "If you endanger us, I’ll kill you." She nodded. "Well, I have no objection, then."
Goblin had entered the room while they talked, and now he said, "Fine. Tie her up, then, and send her outside to be kept under guard." The girl started to shake her head, but Jack held up a hand. Goblin’s eyes were still watering, and he obviously couldn’t see well yet, so he didn’t notice.
"Varth," Jack directed, "call Osiric up here, please." Then Jack winced as Varth bellowed for Osiric, who had been sweeping the first floor with a small group of men. When Osiric entered the room, Goblin and Jack explained the situation to him. Goblin reiterated his demand that the girl be tied up and guarded, but Jack objected mildly.
"She obviously has some skills," Jack said quietly. "She got past those men outside. I would feel safer if she were with us where we could slip a knife in her if she tries anything. Frankly, I don’t have a great deal of faith in our soldiers." Jack could see the memories of the chaos the five Randgrith had caused in over twenty of the soldiers -- more than once, actually. Goblin had to grudgingly admit that Jack had a point, but he still felt it would be safer if she was put outside; even if she escaped she couldn’t help Scroupe.
"Scroupe didn’t have any female retainers," Jack reminded Osiric. "Let her come with us, and Goblin can keep an eye on her. If she moves the wrong way, he can brain her with his bloody great cleaver."
"Sure, go ahead. Do it your own way," Goblin grumbled. "Nobody ever listens to me anyway."
Osiric turned to the girl and said, "You are welcome to join us. Do you have any idea where Scroupe is?"
She shook her head and replied, "Somewhere above, is all I know."
"Oh, I almost forgot to mention. There’s a wounded man in the room across the hall," Goblin said casually. "He happened to tell me that Scroupe is on the fourth floor." Osiric sent two of his men to retain the wounded man and take him outside. Jack noticed the girl looking surreptitiously for blood on Goblin’s axe. Good, she thought the axe was his primary weapon. As long as she believed that, Goblin would be in a good position to counter any magic she tried.
"What’s your name, girl?" Jack asked. "I can’t keep calling you ’girl’."
"Hannabryn," she responded. Jack nodded.
Goblin had regained his sight by this time, and Osiric indicated that they should proceed to the stairs. Varth and Jack were in the lead as they approached the fourth floor. Though they had been trying to be quiet, they were seen as soon as they reached the top of the stairs. Twin shots rang out and bullets whined off of the stone. At the other end of the hall they had come upon was a door guarded by two of Scroupe’s henchmen. Quicker than a snake striking, Caradoc pulled back his bowstring and let fly an arrow, taking the nearer of the two dead in the chest. As he slumped back against the wall, Varth heaved a dagger at the other man. The distance was great -– Jack didn’t think he could even have thrown a knife that far, much less been able to aim it -- but Varth’s knife flew true and sank to the hilt into the man’s side. He too started to fall as we proceeded cautiously down the hallway expecting a response to the gunfire. By the time they reached the doorway the man was dead. Jack noticed but did not mention that the outlaw shouldn’t have died that quickly from that particular wound. Jack suspected that Varth had enhanced the dagger’s deadliness with one of the poisons that were common to his prior trade. Jack hoped that Osiric would not notice it, and he resolved to bring the matter up later when he and Varth were alone. Perhaps Varth could give Jack some of that stuff. You never knew when something like that will come in handy.
A muttered consultation between Osiric and Goblin resulted in Goblin closing his eyes and doing his magic stuff. That nasty protoplasmic eyeball sprang forth from his forehead before becoming invisible. Jack kept a close eye on the girl, Hannabryn, to make sure she didn’t take advantage of having Goblin’s attention off of her. She seemed surprised to learn that Goblin was a mage, and a considering look came into her eye, but Jack felt no danger from her.
Goblin reported that Scroupe was in the room, along with Lady Fiona and one henchman. The Lady was tied to a chair, with the henchman watching her. Scroupe himself was pacing back and forth agitatedly, with a repeating pistol in one hand and a huge gemstone in the other. After a brief discussion, Osiric decided to have Goblin place his confusicating cloud about Lady Fiona and the henchman, and they would break the door down and charge Scroupe.
Goblin cast his spell while Varth used Goblin’s axe to chop rapidly through the door. When Varth at last kicked the door aside and Jack got a clear view of the room, he noted Scroupe pointing his pistol at Lady Fiona and holding a huge orange gemstone in his left hand as if it was a weapon. Jack’s blood was pounding, and he jerked his pistol up and fired in one motion, just as the renegade lord was beginning to speak. Jack fired too quickly, however, and the shot went wide.
"Stop there or I’ll kill her," Scroupe said harshly, with a glare at Jack as he slipped through the doorway and to the right. Just behind him Varth stepped through the doorway and moved left. They started to move forward as Osiric came through the door.
Scroupe cocked the hammer on his pistol. "One more step and she’s dead!"
Varth and Jack glanced at each other, measuring distance. Damn, Scroupe could get at least two shots off before either of the Randgrith fighters could reach him.
"Stop there, Jack, Varth," Osiric said firmly, with a vexed look at Jack. He seemed a little upset that Jack had fired so quickly at Scroupe. Jack shrugged and stopped moving. Osiric looked back at Scroupe. "If you kill her, you are dead." he said conversationally.
Scroupe shrugged, "I’m dead anyway. You have something that is mine."
Thinking quickly, Jack said, "You mean that silver? We turned it into the authorities at Freehaven."
"You’re lying, but it doesn’t matter," Scroupe said calmly, refusing to look at Jack as if he didn’t count. "If you don’t give me what I want, she is dead. Here’s what’s going to happen. All of you will back out of this room. Then Lady Fiona and I will follow. You will go back to Delwyn, and we will be right behind you. Then you will give me what is mine." His laughter seemed a little unbalanced.
The room was shadowed, lit by torches placed at intervals along the walls. The wall next to me was not lit, and Jack noted a doorway into an adjacent room - which was dark. As Scroupe spoke, Jack edged smoothly toward the wall until he was deep in shadow.
"Now, back out of the room," Scroupe ordered. Osiric began to withdraw.
"Where are you going?" Varth protested over his shoulder at Osiric.
"Come on, Varth," Osiric said. Scroupe still didn’t acknowledge Jack’s presence. He had the same attitude as his vassal Sir Weldron had formerly shown - Jack was beneath them, and thus beneath notice. In addition, there was a gleam of not-quite-sane in the renegade lord’s eyes. As Osiric and Varth backed up, so did Jack. He backed into that dark room he had seen in the shadows of the wall, and began to feverishly reload his pistol, trusting to Osiric to keep Scroupe’s attention. This Osiric did easily, displaying again that talent for drama Jack had seen at the battle at the outlaw camp.
Jack could see Varth calculating all the hiding places they had passed getting here. If Osiric led Scroupe out of the building, Varth could easily hide and come up from behind. And Varth didn’t forget Jack. Jack could see Varth measuring the distance between himself and Scroupe, and between Jack and Scroupe. Jack was closer. Then Varth measured the distance between himself and Lady Fiona. He glanced to where Jack was hiding, and glanced at Scroupe. Then he scratched his chest and looked at Lady Fiona. It was clear to Jack that the young assassin was suggesting that if they got the chance that Jack should take Scroupe, and Varth would shield Lady Fiona. Jack nodded, and Varth must have seen the movement, because he nodded back. Scroupe had apparently noticed none of this byplay, because his attention was still focused on the questions that Osiric continued to ask. Finally Jack’s pistol was reloaded, and he pressed back against the wall, waiting for a chance to use it.
Osiric finally had gotten himself completely out of the room, and he stepped aside from the doorway to let Varth pass. Hannabryn had been peering through the doorway all along, hoping to see the death of the man who had her mother killed. She must have thought that Scroupe was going to get away, because as soon as Osiric was out of the doorway, she acted. Summoning her power, she released the same sudden flash of light that had blinded Goblin earlier. The flash blinded Osiric and Caradoc, who weren’t expecting it, but Varth and Jack had seen her start the motions and had looked away.
That tore it, the time for talk was over. Before the flash had fully faded, Varth and Jack were on the move. Varth dashed toward Lady Fiona as Jack launched himself at Scroupe. Jack had only gone a few feet when he noticed that Scroupe was no more blinded that he was. Pressing his lips together grimly the renegade lord stared Jack in the eye and pulled the trigger of the gun that was still pointed at Lady Fiona. The lady tipped her chair over to the side as Scroupe fired, and the shot missed her. Scroupe hesitated between shooting Lady Fiona and shooting Jack just long enough for Jack to pull his pistol up and fire while still running. It was a hurried shot, but Jack was closer now and he was gratified to see Scroupe sway with the impact of the bullet. Blood started to stain the renegade lord’s jerkin and fear crossed his face. Clutching the huge orange gemstone he still held in his left hand, Scroupe pointed the stone toward Jack. A pulse of orange light spread from the now glowing stone - an expanding bubble of evil colored light. As the light touched Jack a hideous pain spread through his body like molten glass along every nerve. The shock of that pain was so great that it drove Jack to his knees to fall gasping on the floor. Cries of pain behind him told Jack that his companions had been similarly affected.
Jack’s bones were on fire, and his muscles were knotted in spasms. He could not force his body to move. Jack raged against the pain, and against his rebellious body. He would not be so easily overcome! Not! NOT! Reaching out with trembling hands, Jack dug his nails into the stone floor and began to drag himself toward the target of his rage. He gave himself to his Rage as his bloodied fingertips pulled him slowly toward Scroupe. The only thought in Jack’s mind was to get his hands on Scroupe, to feel his flesh tear beneath Jack’s fingers. The triumph on Scroupe’s face turned sickly as Jack slowly crawled toward him, and the renegade lord backed unsteadily away. Panic tinged his voice as Scroupe lifted it to cry out, "Ramthanadox! Help your servant! I need your help!" The stone in Scroupe’s hand pulsed and he began to grow dim. Suddenly the pain was gone and Jack tore himself from the floor to leap at Scroupe. Focusing his sean-aoidh, Jack struck at the ex-lord with every bit of power he could muster. It was too late; Jack’s blow passed right through Scroupe’s body as if he weren’t even there. Moments later, Scroupe was gone.
Cursing, Jack vented his frustration on the stone wall, which didn’t seem to notice. Breathing deeply, Jack brought himself under control once again as Osiric and Goblin went through Scroupe’s belongings, looking for clues. Varth had tied Scroupe’s henchman up before he came out of the daze that Goblin’s spell had put on him, and Lady Fiona seemed to be fine. There was nothing in Scroupe’s belongings to indicate where he might have gone, nor any information about that name he had called out. Frustrated and tired, they left. It was late, and the group decided to camp outside the monastery. No one felt like sleeping inside there after the recent happenings, but it wasn’t safe to ride through the woods at night.
All except for Goblin, that is. Since that last encounter, he had been agitated. Once it was clear that there was nothing more to be done here, he told us that he was going back to Delwyn Hold, and he was leaving now. He was in a great hurry, but he didn’t explain why - nor did Jack want to ask. Goblin was the mage, and when it came to magic Jack trusted him to handle things as he saw fit. When Goblin had information, he would tell Osiric, Jack was certain. Stopping the mage as he was about to mount his horse, Jack pressed the reigns of two other horses into his hands.
"This way you can ride hard and switch periodically. You can go at top speed and not founder your horse." Jack said. We had plenty of extra horses from the bandits who no longer needed them.
"Thanks," Goblin replied gruffly. Then he hesitated, as if debating whether to continue. Finally the mage said to Jack confidentially, "You know that name Scroupe called on? Don’t say it aloud. Don’t write it down. And don’t let anyone else do it either." With that cryptic warning, he mounted his horse and kicked it immediately into a gallop. A troubled Jack returned thoughfully to the campfire.
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Monday, March 24, 2008
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Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
The sun was cascading gently over the city when Jack and Varth woke the next morning. Varth returned to Osiric’s house, while Jack ran errands around town. They had decided to return to Delwyn as soon as Jack finished his business, so Jack hurried. When he was done Jack met Varth and Unkus at Osiric’s house, and the trio set out for Delwyn. The journey back was uneventful, though Varth and Unkus had some fun at Jack’s expense by trying to teach him the beginnings of Unkus’ native language - a dialect of Pictish. Jack took the teasing good-heartedly, as he was a student of languages, and he enjoyed the experience. Jack also thought it might be useful for Varth and him to share a language that not few others would understand. The nature of their work was such that the ability to exchange information privately could be an advantage. Things had been busy at the keep while Jack and Varth were gone. Caradoc had been surveying the Delwyn lands and investigating anything unusual he found to make sure that there would be no surprises. Goblin and Osiric had been going over the keep itself, insuring that Osiric’s cousin was familiar with the responsibilities he would have when Osiric was absent on his quest. Jack, Varth and Unkus arrived at the keep about the same time Caradoc returned from his survey, and just in time for dinner, which pleased Varth and Unkus. So far, no one had found anything dangerous, nor any hint of where Scroupe had gotten his funds. There was, however, one area yet to be explored - the dungeons beneath the castle. Osiric had an architectural plan of the dungeons when they were first built, and proposed that the group explore them the next day -- he had simply been waiting for Caradoc, Varth, and Jack to return. After some discussion, theys decided that only the five of them would go - Osiric, Goblin, Caradoc, Varth, and Jack. If they did find any clues about Scroupe’s backer, they didn’t want the information to leak out until after they decided what to do. Early the next morning they assembled at the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons, which the plans showed to contain cells, interrogation chambers, and store rooms. Varth and Jack led off, with the rest following close behind. They began to methodically explore each hallway. The main hallways were obviously well used, though the side hallways leading to unused store rooms and other rarely used areas were dusty and untracked. As their lanterns cast golden light down one particular hallway, Jack heard a muffled rustling and some muted moans. Jack consulted Osiric’s map to see what would be down this hallway. According to the map, it led only to the cells where prisoners were kept to await justice. If the cells were occupied, these people had probably been without light or food for the better part of three weeks. Walking cautiously down the hallway, Varth and Jack peered into the cells. Peering back at them were several worn and emaciated faces, pleading weakly for help. Jack sent Varth back to get Osiric, since the hallway seemed to dead-end as the map had indicated. When he saw the prisoners, Osiric cursed beneath his breath. From his interviews of the castle residents, Osiric knew that Scroupe had been quick to hang any violent or serious criminals. These people must have been minor offenders. "I think they’ve been punished enough," Osiric said. "We’ll have them freed and fed, and then send them home." The relief on the faces of the prisoners was profound. The relief turned to panic as Osiric turned to go. "Don’t worry," Jack reassured them. "Lord Osiric meant what he said. We just don’t have the keys with us." Jack put his lantern on the floor to give them light and continued, "We’ll send a soldier down with the keys. He’ll help you out of here, and see that you’re taken care of." The ragged prisoners sagged weakly against the bars as Jack’s words sank in. "Thank you, my lord," one said softly to Jack. The voice said it was a woman, though you couldn’t tell to look at her. Jack shook his head, "I’m no lord. Thank Lord Osiric; he is lord of Delwyn now, and he is a just lord. The best thanks you can give is to be good citizens, and to help your neighbors." She nodded. Jack rejoined Osiric as he waited for Varth to return from relaying the orders to the guards, which Varth did a minute or two later, panting. Leaning toward him Jack whispered, "What did you do, run the whole way?" Varth nodded. "I didn’t want to miss anything." Shaking his head with a grin, Jack led the way down the last hallway on this level. There was one staircase down they had found, which would be the next place to explore. The map said that this hallway was a dead end with no exits, and the staircase down was to a few more storage rooms, so Jack didn’t expect this exploration to take too much longer. He was a little disappointed, since he’d been hoping to find more information about Scroupe’s backing or plans. Jack didn’t like the idea of leaving for a year with Scroupe still around to cause trouble. The ancestors must have been laughing at him, though, because about halfway down the supposedly dead-end hallway they came across a door set into the wall! Varth raised one eyebrow at Jack as he glanced back to see Osiric peering at his map. Shrugging, Osiric said, "It’s not on the map, anyway." The implication was obvious -- perhaps this was where they’d find clues to Scroupe’s connections. Varth and Jack began an animated discussion on how to break the door down, when Goblin asked with disgust, "Aren’t you even going to try the handle first?" Stopping in the middle of a sentence, Jack just stared at Goblin. Afraid to say anything, Jack looked back at Varth. As gingerly as if it might bite him, Varth reached for the handle of the door. Slowly he turned the handle and the door swung free. Jack winced and refused to look at the smirk he knew was on the old mage’s face. Varth muttered a curse as he proceeded down the newly found hallway, and Jack followed close behind pretending he knew all along that the door wasn’t locked. Everyone else was kind enough not to mention the incident any further, and the group quickly returned to the business of exploring. The new hallway led to a narrow stone staircase spiraling down at least 20 feet deeper into the earth. At the bottom of the stairs was a short hallway that ended with another door. Nonchalantly, Varth tried this door’s handle, and it refused to turn. He turned a look of triumph on Goblin, who ignored it. With a gleeful look, Varth began preparing to break this door down, but Osiric stopped him. "Isn’t there perhaps a less destructive way to get the door open?" Osiric asked them pointedly. Varth’s shoulders fell. Jack knew how he felt -- there had been a lot going on lately to get the blood boiling, with no sort of physical release. A little pointless destruction of Osiric’s property would have been just the thing to ease some pent up frustrations. Jack knelt in front of the door as Varth pulled a few pieces of stiff wire from his jerkin. Jack peered inside the door’s keyhole as Varth held the lantern so that light shone within. Waving away the wires Varth had, Jack pulled out his own set of picks. Inserting the picks into the keyhole, Jack played with the locking mechanism. The lock wasn’t too hard, after only a couple of minutes it turned with a click as Jack levered it with the picks. He stood and brushed the knees of his trousers free of dust as Varth opened the door. After swinging only part of the way open, the door was stopped by something on the other side. Since Jack was the smallest, he peered cautiously around the door. His nose was assaulted with the odor of their doorstop -- three bodies in advanced states of decomposition lay in the hallway by the door. Jack didn’t see any sign of a threat, though, so he stepped over the body that was the main obstruction. Grasping the corpse’s boots, Jack dragged it out of the way so that the others could come through. The hallway itself continued on out of the reach of our lantern’s light, but Caradoc said that it didn’t appear to have been used in the past several weeks, according to the tracks - or lack of them. "What killed them?" Osiric asked as he looked at the bodies. Clucking to himself, Goblin began examining the corpses. "I don’t know, Osiric," he said. "There are no obvious wounds. They were evidently not killed with a sword or similar weapon. However, the advanced state of decomposition makes it impossible to determine whether poison or magical means killed them. The only thing I can say is that they all died within a day or so of one another, or the decomposition would be obviously different in degree." Leaning over to Jack, Varth whispered, "What is decomposition?" Unfortunately life on the streets hadn’t given Varth the benefits of a formal education. "Rotting," Jack whispered back. "Well why didn’t he just say so?" the young assassin responded with disgust. "He’s a magicker, of course," Jack said feigning shock. "He has got to maintain his reputation for wisdom somehow." Varth snickered as Goblin glowered at the two of them. Osiric waved them to continue down the hallway, which they proceeded to do. After fifty feet or so, the hallway ended in another locked door. After a few minutes, this lock also yielded to Jack’s picks, and the door was now unlocked. Jack didn’t open it immediately, however, because while he had been working a lively conversation had sprung up behind Jack about the bodies locate at the other end of the hallway -- how they had died, why they were at that door and not this one, and what dangers might lay beyond this portal. "If they were running from something, they didn’t get too far. That door back there had been locked from the outside," Varth noted. "They weren’t killed with any obvious weapons," Osiric pointed out. "So if something was pursuing them, it didn’t kill them that way. Could it be magic?" He asked Goblin. With a shrug, Goblin responded irritably, "Could be almost anything, for all I know." The argument had been going in circles for some time, and the old man was getting impatient. "You people do what you want," Goblin said abruptly. He walked decisively to the door, thrust it open, and stepped into the opening beyond with his battleaxe at ready. Suddenly he threw himself to the floor, narrowly avoiding having his skull splattered like an egg by a huge iron mace that swung whistling down from above. The mace smashed into the wall, spraying chips of stone over the hallway. Peering around cautiously, Goblin began to pick himself off of the floor. "Hmm. It would appear that someone has trapped this hallway," Osiric observed dryly. "No shit," Goblin snapped. "How did you reach that brilliant conclusion?" the old mage asked sarcastically as he dusted himself off. "Don’t you ever check for traps?" he growled at Jack. "Hey! The door wasn’t trapped!" Jack objected. "You didn’t exactly give me a chance to check the area beyond, now did you?" He picked up Goblin’s battle axe from the floor and held it out. "I believe this is yours?" Jack asked the old man courteously. The mage didn’t seem to appreciate Jack’s courtesy as he snatched the weapon back. "Actually, you don’t normally check for traps," Varth noted maliciously. "Well, no, but that’s beside the point," Jack responded. "The door wasn’t trapped." "Sure, sure, of course you’re right," Varth said sarcastically. The argument continued until they encountered yet another locked door. Jack sighed as he knelt before the door. He was getting tired of doors by this time. "You don’t pay me enough for this, my lord," Jack joked to Osiric. Lifting one eyebrow, Osiric mused, "Actually, I don’t pay you at all." Which was true as far as it goes. Jack was a vassal sworn member of House Randgrith. As his liege lord, Osiric was responsible for equipping him and feeding him, and that’s about it -- there was no actual wage involved. "Don’t rub it in," Jack muttered in mock anger as the lock turned. Actually, he didn’t have any complaints. Osiric was a generous lord, and he made sure that Jack had enough money to do the things that he felt were necessary. Luxuries had never been important to Jack, but he did spend a lot of Osiric’s money on things he felt were necessary to secure Osiric’s position or goals. Besides, Jack had several successful trading ventures here and there -- primarily intended as sources of information that could not easily be traced to House Randgrith, but they also generated significant income that had been saved for emergencies. You never knew when you’d want funds from sources that people didn’t know about. The next hallway appeared to be much the same as the previous two, at least until they started to travel down it. After about twenty feet, there were a number of small noises and suddenly the air seemd filled with flying darts. Varth and Jack were each barely missed by a dart, and Caradoc wound up with two stuck into the quiver at his back. None of them was struck, but Varth examined the darts and determined that they were coated with a substance he was certain was poison. So a new debate began on how to continue without being caught in any more traps. Goblin had disappeared some minutes before, and now Jack heard him returning from back the way they had come. He passed through the doorway they had just traversed dragging one of the rotting corpses from the first hallway. "Here we go," Goblin said with a grunt as he dragged the body through the group. They all pressed against the wall so as not to be accidentally touched by the dead man. As Goblin reached the point where the trap had sprung, he hefted the body and heaved it forward five or six feet. The intention was obvious; the dead man could spring the traps, since he had nothing to lose. Varth cocked his head and said, "Not bad, but I think he needs to work on his follow through." He motioned with his arms to show what he meant. With a chuckle Jack replied, "Yes, his technique needs some improvement." Goblin shot them a mock irritated look as he wiped his hands on his cloak. After that, there was nothing for it but that they all take turns lofting the body down the hallway -- except Osiric, of course, who was disappointed that Jack wouldn’t let him have a try. It became something of a competition, though the competition was really between Varth and Caradoc, who were the strongest of the group. Varth seemed to get better distance, but Caradoc got points for style since the corpse arced higher and thudded to the floor much more firmly when he threw it. Jack had to admit that it was really rather nasty, but the idea behind the grisly corpse tossing was sound. There were a number of dart traps down the length of the hallway that were triggered without endangering anybody. Goblin looked smug since it had been his idea. Finally they reached another door. Jack rolled my eyes in exasperation, but Varth touched him on the shoulder. "Look," he said pointing. "This lock is different." He was right, and Jack should have noticed it himself. This lock wasn’t built into the door like the others, this one was a padlock of very fine make. Perhaps this might be the last. Jack tried his skills against the lock, but wasn’t surprised to be unable to pick it. The design was different from any other he had seen. Locks are made by hand, of course, and the best lock smiths have their own designs which they teach only to their most trusted apprentices. The maker of this lock had obviously been a master, and Jack couldn’t pick it -- at least not quickly. "Let me try," Goblin said with a wrinkled grin. Jack was puzzled, at first, since Goblin doesn’t have those sorts of skills, but as the mage hefted his massive double-bladed battle axe, Jack hurried to get out of his way. With a single practiced blow, he rendered the problem of picking the lock academic as the door sagged in pieces within the frame. Kicking the pieces aside, the mage stepped back and bowed to Osiric. "You may proceed, Lord Osiric." Goblin smirked. Humor notwithstanding, Varth and Jack were first through the door, to make sure there was no danger. They had, it seemed, finally come to the end of the hallway, thank the ancestors. The lantern light showed that they had entered a rough-hewn chamber, with two other chambers connected to it. A number of small chests were stacked on the floor in this first chamber, which caught Jack’s attention immediately. Varth and Jack quickly checked the other chambers to make sure there was no obvious danger, and then Jack knelt to examine one of the chests. They obviously had Osiric’s attention too, as he hovered over Jack’s shoulder to see what he was doing. Jack couldn’t find any traps, so he quickly picked the lock and lifted the lid of the chest. Everyone caught their breath as the lamplight gleamed softly off of silver metal. The chest was filled with silver coins. A number of other chests were similarly filled. It would seem that they had finally found Scroupe’s private treasury, and there was a sizable fortune here. There was enough silver to pay for a good sized war or start a small kingdom. Where had the man gotten it? That question was foremost in Jack’s mind as they explored the other two rooms. One of the rooms had more chests with similar contents, but the other was an armory, with some of the finest weapons Jack had ever seen -- several swords, at least, though no daggers. Osiric was entranced by a superb suit of full plate mail armor, and Varth and Caradoc looked lovingly at the swords. The only other item of note in the armory was a full length mirror on a stand. Looking the room over, Jack shook his head in bemusement; still no clues about Scroupe’s backing. Or was there? Goblin seemed to be taking an unusual interest in that mirror. While Osiric and Jack spoke about the disposition of the money they had found here, Jack watched Goblin examine the mirror. "I don’t think we should leave it here, Osiric," Jack said while Goblin pulled the mirror around to peer at its back. "Particularly since the door is not in great shape," Osiric agreed ruefully. Jack smiled at his understatement. The door was still hanging in pieces within the frame. "But even if the door was still solid, I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving the money here," Jack gestured at the chambers around us. "Not when we are planning on leaving for a year. If Scroupe knows exactly where the money is, he might contrive to retrieve it somehow. However, if he has the whole keep to search -- well, it is extremely unlikely that he will have the leisure to do that. If we were going to be here I wouldn’t be so concerned, but since we aren’t we should take what precautions we reasonably can." Goblin had moved his examination to the frame itself, picking carefully over it with his fingertips, his brow furrowed in concentration. Osiric nodded thoughtfully. "There are several unused chambers that could easily be secured. We’ll select one of those to use, and simply leave it locked. The money isn’t needed for the regular governing of Delwyn; there is more than sufficient income from the lands themselves. Nobody will know of it if we do it ourselves." "I agree," Jack said distractedly. Goblin had stepped back to gaze at the mirror, and Jack was curious to se what he did next. "The only change I might recommend is to perhaps divide the money up into two or three secure places. That way even if one is discovered, all the silver will not be lost..." Jack’s voice trailed off as he watched Goblin pull a knife from his belt and gingerly reach toward the mirror’s surface. The tip of the knife clicked off the glass surface as one would normally expect, and Goblin put the knife away. Jack released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and looked at Osiric in time to see an identical expression of relief on his face. Jack wasn’t sure exactly what they had been expecting, but it had looked as if Goblin half expected the knife to go through the mirror -- to emerge where, Jack couldn’t guess. Goblin did not seem similarly relieved at the mirror’s apparent normalcy in this regard. In fact, the old mage seemed somewhat annoyed. He scowled and walked over to where Osiric and Jack were standing. "Is it enchanted?" Osiric asked with a look of concern. "Of course," Goblin grunted. "You think I’d spend that much time looking at a mirror if it wasn’t?" "True," Jack commented, "you certainly aren’t that much to look at." Osiric quelled Jack’s attempt at humor with a frown. Goblin simply ignored him. "I’m not sure exactly what the mirror is," Goblin continued, "but I certainly think it has something to do with Scroupe’s activities. I want to look at it more closely, and I don’t want anyone else messing with it." "Is it a communications device?" Jack inquired. "If so, is there any way to find out with whom Scroupe was communicating?" "I don’t know," Goblin answered hesitantly. "It is certainly something like that, but I fear it may be much more." Jack thought back to the old mage’s hesitant testing of the glass surface and a chill touched his spine. Keeping to the main point -- something which Osiric was good at -- Osiric said "Tell me what you recommend." Goblin thought for a moment and responded, "Have the mirror put in one of the unused rooms in the dungeon above, perhaps one of the rooms near the now empty prison cells. I’ll use that for my work room. Tell people to stay away, no matter what they may hear." Looking thoughtful, Osiric nodded. "As you wish." Turning to Jack, he continued, "Divide the silver into three portions. Lock one portion in an empty cell and give me the key. Lock one in an unused room and tell no one of its location. The remaining third divide up amongst all of us and each hide it in your rooms." Nodding, Jack waved Varth over to help arrange the chests. Varth and Caradoc each picked up a chest, and Goblin and Jack carried one between them. They’d return later for the rest. They carried the chests down the length of the hallway, and as they approached the door leading to the stairs they heard a voice calling. "Lord Osiric!" the voice called urgently. "Are you there?" They put the chests down quietly and put their hands to weapons as Osiric responded, "Yes, I’m here." A face peered around the doorway, carefully avoiding looking at the rotting bodies in the hall. From the guardsman’s green complexion, Jack guessed that he had already seen the bodies. "Lord Osiric, there is a messenger here about Lady Fiona." The guard said quickly, trying not to breathe the smell of the corpses. "He seems very agitated." "A messenger about Lady Fiona?" Osiric inquired pointedly. The guard just nodded. "By the Blood! I hope she hasn’t gotten into trouble again," Osiric muttered. Jack agreed silently. "I’ll receive the messenger in the study," Osiric said to his companions. "After you finish taking care of these, join me." Then he followed the guard up the stairs. They picked up their burdens and followed more slowly.
 | Currently listening:
The Better Life
By 3 Doors Down
Release date: 08 February, 2000 |
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Wednesday, March 19, 2008
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Category: Writing and Poetry
There was unfortunately another possibility that Jack didn’t like to think about. The Bevyar were a dark and degenerate family. It would be the kind of thing they would enjoy for a Bevyar to rape a maiden from House Randgrith and leave her pregnant. Either way, Wendolyn would be in a hard spot -- unable to live in Dalarda because of the ban, and unaccepted by her family due to the Bevyar taint. Now one might think that this was rather a stretch of logic, but it was not so far a leap, really. Since the exile of House Randgrith, they had become very open-minded about most things. Witness the ease with which Varth and Jack accepted Angrenbor’s story, not to mention a conversation with a dead man. From what Jack had heard, Wendolyn wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize the House or her family, and there are few things that they would reject strongly unless they jeopardize the House. A tie to the damned Bevyar was the only one Jack could think of. Needless to say, Jack didn’t mention this to Varth. The young assassin had enough to think about. Instead Jack simply said, "We should get some rest. We’ll probably want to return to Delwyn in the morning. We need to start getting ready for Osiric’s quest." Jack lay down on one of the two beds in the room. Varth was already occupying the other. In the last moments before sleep Varth turned to Jack. "Do you believe his story? Do you trust him?" Jack knew that he was referring to Ironfist. Ironfist was still a concern; either he was honest and they were obliged to treat him with trust, or he was lying for some purpose and they needed to treat him with suspicion. It was a delicate line to walk. Jack sighed. "Yes, I do. But we’ll watch him anyway. He wants to come with us, so we can keep an eye on him. If we find out he lied, then I’ll make him lunch with one of those potions you usually have with you. He’ll just go to sleep and not wake up." Jack had a mean streak when he’d been lied to, particularly if the lie is meant to injure House Randgrith. Varth just plain had a mean streak; Jack’s lovely talk of vengeance, murder, and poison worked just like a lullaby. Before Jack finished speaking the young assassin was fast asleep.
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Wednesday, March 19, 2008
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Current mood:  restless
Category: Writing and Poetry
Zhad’s angry face turned to amazement as he saw the three downed mercenaries, with Varth and Jack unharmed. An experienced fighting man, Zhad could tell from the positions of the combatants that Jack had defeated three of his warriors single handedly –- with no weapons having been used. Varth was a big man, but Jack was short and wiry. Jack thought that to Zhad he must have seemed little more than a child. Zhad seemed to be having a difficult time accepting the evidence of his eyes, so Jack shrugged and waggled his fingers at the Urkk with a grin. Zhad shook his head, apparently at a loss. With three of his men down and at least one of them seriously injured, it no longer seemed like a fun way to pass the evening. Zhad needed to attend to his men, and he didn’t really want Varth, Jack, and Ironfist all attacking him at once. Not to mention the unknown quantity that was Unkus, who had not yet seen any need to assist. Yet Zhad couldn’t just back down any more than Angrenbor could have simply left once the insults began -- in their profession they live by their reputations. Jack would also later learn that the Urkkish culture has a very rigid code of honor -- Zhad couldn’t lose face by running away from a conflict he had begun. Jack could see Varth getting ready to resume fighting since Zhad didn’t seem to be having much luck resolving his inner conflict. Jack remained in a non-offensive posture, hoping that Zhad would find a way out that he could accept. Evidently the ancestors were listening to Jack’s thoughts, since Zhad seemed to come to some decision and turned to Angrenbor. Speaking a few short words in his harsh tongue, Zhad dropped to one knee before Ironfist and raised his chin. Stepping up to him, Ironfist drew back and punched the Urkk full force in the face. The powerful blow knocked Zhad to the floor, though it didn’t seem to faze him much beyond that -- Jack had already seen ample evidence that the Urkkish head bears a lot of resemblance to granite, so it came as no surprise when he stood and gathered his men. Carrying their wounded, the mercenaries left the restaurant. Ordering a pitcher of ale, Angrenbor nursed a hand that was already visibly bruised and swollen. When the pitcher arrived, Ironfist plunged his hand into it with a hiss. Jack could only wince in sympathy. After seeing the splintered edge of the table, Jack was surprised that Angrenbor’s hand wasn’t shattered into a bunch of little pieces. Obviously he deserved the name "Ironfist". Unkus was talking excitedly in Pictish to Varth, and slapping him on the shoulder. The Pict had evidently enjoyed the floor show. Jack looked around the restaurant and was mildly astonished to notice that very little had been damaged aside from some crockery. The owner was visibly relieved as he began cleaning up. He nodded to Jack as they left, as if to let him know that he was welcome back. They decided to return to Osiric’s house to get some sleep. They anticipated a long day the next day looking for evidence of Varth’s legitimacy. The night was cool, with the moon shining feebly in an overcast sky. The three walked down abandoned streets of houses drained of color by the shadows, pulling their cloaks around them to ward off the chill. As they neared Osiric’s house, they spotted a figure moving toward them in the shadows. The figure’s heavy cloak made it difficult to tell much about it as it moved toward Jack and his companions. The mood of the night had infected Jack with a strange melancholy, probably the aftereffects of too much excitement and ale. Whatever the cause, Jack had fallen into a light trance state as he walked, which made it easy for him to reach out now with his sean-aoidh senses to analyze this stranger who drifted so slowly towards them. Suddenly Jack’s fatigue disappeared in a rush of alarm -- this stranger was unlike anything he had ever sensed before. Highly skilled people have a sense of their own bodies that is unmistakable -- Jack could see it in the way they moved, feel it in the spaces between their breaths, sense it directly from their sean-aoidh. But this approaching figure was virtually the opposite. The way it moved seemed to have no relation to the space around it, and it seemed to have absolutely no awareness of having a body at all. And yet it moved without any awkwardness, as if it didn’t have to interact directly with the surface on which it walked. Jerking out his pistol, Jack hissed to Varth, "It isn’t any natural thing, that!" Varth faded into the shadows, which seemed to reach out to embrace him so that he virtually disappeared from sight. Jack knew that Varth had a weapon in hand. Angrenbor drew his dirk as Jack pointed his pistol at the shrouded figure that had finally come near. The figure lifted one arm and displayed an empty hand. "Fear not, I will not harm you," the stranger spoke. Its voice was hollow and echoed strangely off of the nearby buildings. It raised the hackles on Jack’s neck. The voice seemed to come from a far cold distance, though the speaker was but a few feet away. Jack was no coward, as anyone who knew him could attest. But he couldn’t help but feel a hollow thrum of fear at the sound of that voice. It bespoke pain -- tortuous, terrifying pain -- the figure’s own pain communicated directly to the listener’s soul. Angrenbor seemed to start at the sound of the voice, and peered at the shadowed form before him as though trying to discern its features. The clouds parted as they sometimes will and moonlight came pouring down upon the scene. In the sudden light Jack could see the figure much more clearly -- and what he saw wasn’t particulary reassuring. Grey, the stranger was, without any color to him, and the buildings could be faintly seen through his form. Finely chiseled features had been carven with lines of pain to form a map of the sufferings of the human spirit. For spirit indeed this thing was. A shade from the other side of death’s door, walking the night for a purpose of which Jack and his companions were evidently a part. Looking ruefully at his pistol, Jack put it away. Whatever danger this being represented could not be countered that way. Ironfist had been staring fixedly at the apparition, and finally ground out, "Telchar?" Jack held back a curse. Now he understood the identity of the shade; it must be no other than Varth’s father, dead for many years. What dread binding had kept Telchar Cloamby walking the half world between living and dead all this time? Jack was pretty sure he didn’t really want to know the answer, but he knew something of the bindings of honor himself and surpressed the near overwhelming urge to back away. Whatever was going on would involve both Varth and House Randgrith, leaving Jack with little choice but to be as well informed on the matter as he could be. With iron will Jack held himself near to the shade so that he might hear its words. Turning towards the deep shadows where Varth remained, the shade of Telchar spoke. "My son, do not trust the shadows. Therein lays your enemy. Fear not the light of day, for only by the dark will your foes prevail." This ominous warning chilled Jack further still, for he knew Varth was quite adept in the shadows himself. Yet as with all such oracular utterings, Jack knew the message could refer to other kinds of shadows than those cast by sun or moon. Angrenbor asked hesitantly, "Telchar, why do you roam the land of the living?" Jack had a sudden unpleasant thought and looked quickly around. There are two ways to communicate with the dead, of course -- the dead can come to the land of the living, or the living can go to the realms of the dead. Jack was hoping it was the former and not the latter. To his relief it appeared that they were still in the Freehaven of the living, though Jack wasn’t sure how he could tell. It was for the best, thought Jack, since he looked abysmal in gray. "Donovan, my old friend," the Telchar’s shade said as it turned to Ironfist, "twice now have you failed to keep my and mine from harm. Do not fail me again." The shade’s pain-filled eyes burned with bitter recrimination. Jack swallowed in a dry throat even as he noted the name by which the shade had called Ironfist. Angrenbor paled at this accusation, but did not deny it or try to excuse it. Taking a deep breath he returned, "That name is unknown in this time, and is better left unspoken, for our enemies often lurk in unsuspected places." The shades burning eyes narrowed and the chill voice became like ice. "Lecture me not on our enemies, kinsman. Almost a score of years now since my passing, and each night has been spent in hellish torment at their hands. Would that you could ease my suffering," Jack shuddered at the implications of that phrase, "but only the boy holds that key." The burning anger faded as Telchar’s shade turned back toward Varth. "Step forward, son," the shade pleaded as it sought to penetrate the shadows with its ghostly sight. "Let me see your face by the light of the moon." Varth stepped slowly out of the shadows. He had sheathed his sword -- Jack thought he could remember hearing the sound some ages ago. As the moonlight fell on Varth’s face Telchar’s shade hunched its shoulders. "You have your mother’s eyes, lad," the shade murmured. "Such beautiful eyes she had, my fair Wendolyn." These words seemed but cold comfort to Varth, but were all that Telchar had left to give. It’s funny how the mind works. Even in the midst of this most magical and horrible meeting, Jack was picking out the tidbits of information and trying to piece them together. He now knew Tara’s given name, and he suspected that he knew Ironfist’s also. It also appeared that Ironfist and Telchar, and hence Varth, were related by blood. It was also evident that though Telchar had died on the field of battle, he had not died from battle. Telchar was a mercenary, and had accepted the risks of that profession. Had he simply died in battle, he would not now be wandering amongst the living. Obviously something else had been at play -- an idea reinforced by the later murder of Tara and attempted murder of Varth. Furthermore, Telchar was still being tortured by enemies of the House. Naturally, Jack would have to try to find a way to stop this. A wave of weariness came over him. Wasn’t it enough that Jack had to worry about living Randgrith lords; did he have to be concerned about the welfare of the dead ones too? "Do you know who killed my mother?" Varth asked with his eyes burning. His body was poised like a racing hound at the starting line. He was hoping that his father’s shade could finally give him a target. "No, my son," Telchar’s spirit replied. "It could have been any of a number of our house’s enemies." Varth settled back in disappointment. Then his eyes narrowed, "Who killed you, father?" he asked, obviously planning a new vengeance. "I do not know. I am tortured each night by them," the shade groaned, "but I never saw their faces, nor do I now. Be careful my son. My enemies are surely yours, and they are treacherous." Looking at Jack helplessly, Varth seemed at a loss for questions. Hoping that Telchar would not take offense, Jack asked, "Who was Varth’s mother, sir?" The shade seemed to notice me for the first time. His eyes measured me. Jack did not flinch from that burning gaze, and the shade finally chose to answer him mildly, "She was Wendolyn of Taranon. Beautiful Wendolyn, my bride. We were once so happy. She was a saucy woman, with a keen mind and a sharp tongue. No other has ever been her equal," he trailed off suddenly and a look of pain crossed his face. "I must go soon, my son," Telchar’s spirit said, turning stiffly back to Varth. "If you have further questions you must ask them quickly." "I have many questions, father," Varth said. "But I will ask only one. Where were you and my mother wed?" "In Rheged were we wed, in the capital. A small temple of the Crysadan sect. They have all the records," Telchar’s voice was weary and pale. Bowing his head he said, "Farewell, my son. Be careful." Seemingly pulled into the shadows the shade seemed simply to meld into the darkness. "Be careful," the wind wailed once again. Shivering in his cloak, Jack turned to Angrenbor. "What enemies?" he asked. "If you have enemies that might endanger Osiric or House Randgrith, I need to know about them." Jack had been alarmed by the mention of enemies, and by the fact that Ironfist did not want his given name to be spoken aloud even by a dead man. Jack was not going to permit any man’s personal foes to endanger the well-being of House Randgrith. Besides which, he was now desparately curious about Angrenbor. He couldn’t just come right out and say that, though. It might not be any of Jack’s business, and he didn’t think that Angrenbor would answer. So Jack demanded information that was his business. Looking at Jack strangely, Angrenbor replied, "No enemies in particular. The enemies you already know about -- the enemies of House Randgrith, those are the ones I was referring to." "That’s not good enough," Jack insisted. "You failed Telchar," he said cruelly, "but I don’t intend to fail Varth." "I said the same thing to Telchar," Angrenbor countered. Jack was not the only one who could play rough, it seemed. Puzzled by Jack’s sudden hostility towards Ironfist, Varth questioned me. "What’s wrong, Jack?" His hand had fallen naturally to his rapier, but he wasn’t sure what to do. He was confused -- meeting your father for the first time can be an overwhelming experience, particularly when he’s dead. Varth hadn’t been tracking the implications of the information he had gotten, though he certainly would have seen them soon. "Don’t you see, Varth?" Jack stressed. "Telchar called Angrenbor kinsman, which makes him related to you. He may even be a member of the Randgrith Blood Lineal." Jack looked at Angrenbor as he said this, but the mercenary gave nothing away. Directing my next words at Ironfist, Jack said calculatingly, "And Telchar also called you Donovan. I bet I can find out from that information just who you are." Angrenbor laughed at Jack. "I doubt it very much. That trail is very cold indeed." His eyes glinted a warning at Jack. But Jack was never good at taking warnings, and he didn’t like implied threats. Narrowing his own eyes and grinning a wolfish grin Jack replied, "Oh, you might be surprised. I can be surprisingly resourceful, when I need to be." His voice lowered and became more controlled as he purred, "And besides, if you don’t want your name mentioned by a ghost on a deserted street you certainly don’t want me very vocally requesting information on that same name from every source I can think of. Your enemies would certainly hear it then." Jack really didn’t like implied threats -- he liked his threats right there out in the open. Before Angrenbor could decide how to respond to this, Jack continued calmly, "It might be best if you just told me now. It will save us all a whole lot of trouble." Varth started to grin a wolfish grin of his own as he caught up to the byplay. "He’s right, you know," Varth said to Ironfist, "and he’ll do it too." Looking thoughtfully at us, Angrenbor said slowly, "And what if it were to become known that House Randgrith had a member of the Blood that was 500 years old?" As strange as it sounded, Jack believed what Angrenbor was implying immediately. Perhaps speaking to a ghost makes one more ready to believe in the fantastic. Varth was startled, but he seemed ready to believe the story also. Rubbing one hand wearily across his eyes Jack sighed, "You’re right. I should probably leave it alone." A natural first thought would be that Angrenbor had contact with some supernatural agency or was one of the undead. The story alone could damage the reputation of House Randgrith. And yet Jack knew that Angrenbor was no immediate danger. That left the issue unresolved, though, which wasn’t acceptable. Jack could not let Angrenbor jeopardize Osiric with those unanswered questions, and he wasn’t sure what to do next. Jack glanced over at Varth, who seemed to be struggling with the same doubts. Angrenbor’s massive head bent for a moment, then he looked back at Jack. "We shouldn’t be talking about this here in the street, and I’d rather not talk about this where servants might hear." Angrenbor seemed to be a perceptive man. Jack could see that Angrenbor realized that the issue wasn’t resolved for Jack, and the mercenary was offering to try to resolve Jack’s doubts. Waving his hand vaguely, Jack responded, "I have a townhouse not too far away. It’s no grand place, but it’s clean and private." So that’s where they ended up a few minutes later. "You know," Jack started, "I probably would have found out who you were, though I might not have believed it. Once I was unable to find your name among the current generation of Randgriths, I would have started looking backward. We both know that names tend to repeat in families, and I would have tried to find out what families used that name. Unless all of your birth records have been destroyed -- which seems unlikely given this House’s attention to Bloodlines -- I would eventually have found it." Angrenbor shot Jack a startled look. "You are a member of the Randgrith Blood Lineal?" Varth asked Angrenbor. Nodding, Angrenbor replied, "I am, or at least I was. But that was 500 years ago. No one living knows that, except you two, and I would prefer that it remain that way. Please don’t tell even Osiric or Goblin." Varth and Jack both nodded in return, but Jack at least was simply acknowledging the request, not agreeing to it. He would have to decide what to do after he had more information. Varth asked the big question, "So how did you come to live so long?" His brow furrowed, Angrenbor stared at the wall a few moments before answering. Looking back at the other two, Angrenbor shrugged, "I don’t know. I’ve spent many years trying to find out. I’ve been all over talking to sages, wizards, even spending time with the Eldhellin. I have never found an answer to that one question." Sipping from a cup of water, he did not continue. Evidently the subject was difficult for him to discuss, from habit as much as anything else. Jack imagined that secrecy on this subject must be almost instinctive by this time. He did not seem unwilling to answer questions, though. "How did you find out? I mean, I assume that your childhood growth was normal, and that the lack of aging did not show until adulthood." Jack was guessing, but it seemed reasonable. Angrenbor seemed an honorable man who still felt ties to House Randgrith. Had he not been raised in the House, he would likely not have those feelings. However, it was unlikely that a child who never grew would have been raised as a Randgrith. So Jack had deduced that Angrenbor’s childhood growth had been normal. Angrenbor smiled. "Yes, it wasn’t until I reached maturity that my aging slowed. In addition, I discovered that I could survive more grievous wounds than other people, and that I healed faster than normal. Not so fast as to seem supernatural," he hastened to reassure them, "but a wound that would take an average man a month to heal might heal for me in a week." A look of old sorrow crossed his face. "When I found out, I had to leave my father’s house. I never went back." Jack could read between the lines. Angrenbor had left home rather than be driven out by fear and jealousy, and Jack suspected at least in part so that he wouldn’t have to see all he had known age and die. "I know that the elves have long lives," Jack said, "you said you went to them. Couldn’t they give you any answers either?" "No," he replied. "The Eldhellin don’t age at all. They live without aging until their spirits grow weary, and then they cross over to another realm. I went to them because I thought I might have elvish blood, but all of the tests were negative. They had no lore that might explain a human who simply ages slowly." Jack’s eyelids were getting heavy as the day’s activities took their toll. It wasn’t the physical strain; Jack was rarely physically tired. But all their emotions had been shaken repeatedly today. Varth was looking pale and drawn. His had been the roughest day of all, Jack thought. We should complete this conversation soon so we could all get some sleep. "Who was your mother?" Jack asked, pursuing the only other possibility. It had to be inherited, since it wasn’t supernatural. It wasn’t his father, or it would have shown up elsewhere in House Randgrith. "I don’t know," he returned. "She died when I was born, and all records of her had been destroyed at my father’s orders." "Surely not all the records," Jack disagreed. "They would have been married in a religious ceremony, and those records would be kept by the sect that performed the ceremony. Did you ever go back and look?" "No. It would have been awkward. I couldn’t go back until a hundred years later, when everyone who knew me had died. I couldn’t just walk in and say, ’Hi, I’m Donovan, son of Beregund. Let me see your records.’ I wasn’t really part of the House by then, at least as far as anyone knew." "That’s true," Jack responded slowly. "But I could check them now. I am a part of the House, and it wouldn’t be that unusual." "After all this time, and with all the upheavals the House has gone through, I am sure the records are gone," Angrenbor said discouragingly. Maybe so. Since the exile, many things had been lost. Angrenbor had mentioned earlier that he had been away at the time of the outlawing of the House. By the time he found out, it was too late to do anything. Jack thought it unlikely that Angrenbor could have done anything anyway; he was still only one man, even with his gifts. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind Jack asked the question that had been tickling at his curiosity since he first found out that Angrenbor was a Randgrith. "Can I ask you what your family name is? What branch of the Blood Lineal are you?" It was a rather personal question, and Jack was curious to see if the mercenary would answer it. With a grin and a glance at Varth, Angrenbor said simply, "My family name was Cloamby." Varth sat up suddenly as Jack said, "You hear that? He’s your what, Great Uncle?" Leaning his elbows on the table Varth asked, "You’re not in my direct line, are you?" With a silent laugh Angrenbor shook his head. "No. As far as I know, I don’t have any offspring." Varth settled back, somewhat visibly relieved. Looking at these two lords of House Randgrith -- neither of whom could admit it publicly -- Jack had the sudden thought that lords of the Randgrith Blood were suddenly popping up all over. Then Jack was gripped by the sudden irrational fear that he might somehow turn out to be a lord and not know it. Shuddering at the thought, Jack decided that it was definitely time to get some sleep and hope he did not give himself nightmares. Jack consoled himself with the fact that he knew who his family was, in all its shadowed details, and he knew his place in it. While there is certainly some Randgrith blood floating around in Clan Sprytes, they definitely were not lords, thank the ancestors. Let Osiric be the lord; Jack had enough to handle with his existing obligations to House Randgrith. Dragging his mind back to the present, Jack listened to Varth and Angrenbor talking about the past and the future. Evidently Angrenbor had taken to heart Telchar’s admonition, and intended to try to help Varth until he could declare himself. What a tangled web this was going to be. Angrenbor had requested that they not tell anyone about his identity. Jack would do that as long as his oaths made it possible. The conversation wound quickly down as all three were tired. Angrenbor left to return to his own apartments. He would start in the morning raising the troop for Lord Osiric’s cavalry. Varth and Jack decided to sleep at Jack’s townhouse rather than walk back to Osiric’s house. As Jack cleaned the cups, Varth was mulling over the nights events. At last he commented, "Now I need to find out who the family Taranon is. Perhaps they know something of my mother’s death." Damn! Jack had forgotten that subject entirely. "Varth, I know who the family Taranon is," Jack said quickly. "They are another branch of House Randgrith. Since the exile they have been based in the lands south of Dalarda; they have a manse in Rheged, or did until this last set of succession wars." Considering the implications of this, Jack continued more slowly, "Which means that Angrenbor might be correct; your Bloodlines might place you nearly as high in the House as Lord Osiric." Varth stared at Jack. Jack didn’t think the younger man had really yet come to believe this whole thing. As competent and highly skilled as Varth was, it was easy to forget that he was only 19 years of age. Jack finally realized what a shock this whole thing must have been. He said gently, "You don’t have to tell anyone, you know. We can investigate the matter quietly to discover the person or persons responsible for your parents’ deaths and avenge them, and then just let the whole thing drop. Think about it a while. You don’t have to make any irreversible decisions now." Varth was silent as Jack put the cups away and thought about the situation. It seemed odd that with Telchar and Wendolyn both members of House Randgrith that they would not tell either family of their marriage, particularly with Telchar’s family so close. This implied that there was something about the match that was suspect. Now, Telchar’s background seemed unblemished, and it was hard to believe that he had done anything that would have made him outcast in the House without Jack having heard of it. This left Wendolyn. Mysterious Wendolyn. Something must be odd about her background. From what Jack had heard tonight, she was a strong and honorable woman -- Varth certainly held her in unmatched regard. Yet she didn’t even use her own name. It also seemed odd that they would wed in Rheged, hiding the marriage from Telchar’s family. Jack knew very little about the current family Taranon, but he seemed to recall that they were one of the few lines that still had some ties in Dalarda. The only possible connection Jack could see there was if Wendolyn had some tie to House Bevyar, a tie that was not shared by the rest of her family. It was not impossible; the members of House Randgrith and House Bevyar tend to keep an eye on each other. It was possible that two such could meet and have an affair, perhaps even wed in the hidden manner that Telchar and Wendolyn had.
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Thursday, February 28, 2008
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Current mood:  tired
Category: Writing and Poetry
CHAPTER 2 The next day Jack sent runners out to search for Captain Angrenbor among some of the places he was known to frequent. After a few hours, one of the runners returned with the information that Angrenbor was in a dive in one of the rougher parts of town. The tavern was a ramshackle and dingy place, redolent of stale beer and other smells Jack preferred not to think about. Captain Angrenbor was easy to spot; Jack hadn't expected it, but the man known as Ironfist appeared to be actually as large and powerful as the stories described. Jack shook his head in disbelief. The man was huge! Not that Jack was intimidated, of course. Well, not much. Varth stayed by the door to watch Jack's back as Jack slowly approached Captain Angrenbor's table. The table was littered with empty mugs, though Angrenbor didn't seem particularly inebriated. Jack walked up to the table, and realized that Angrenbor had been watching since Jack entered the room, and probably Varth as well. "Captain Angrenbor? May I speak with you? I have a proposition I'd like to discuss." Jack said calmly. "What is it?" Ironfist growled. Jack motioned at an empty chair, "May I sit?" Angrenbor shook his head slightly and replied, "What's your proposition, first?" "I understand that you are a mercenary captain, and one of the best." "I used to be, anyway. What's it to you?" Angrenbor's belligerence may have come from his inebriated state, but Jack suspected it had a more personal source. Rumor had it that he had been responding violently to negative comments about his recent loss and its effect on his reputation. "I represent a man who has recently been invested with the title and lands of Delwyn." Jack fully expected Captain Angrenbor to know who that was – the news had been buzzing all over Freehaven for some days now. "This individual is interested in contracting your services." "I don't have a company anymore." Angrenbor said it calmly, but it was an effort. "I understand," Jack said carefully, wanting to avoid touching on sensitive issues. "But we would like to give you the opportunity to at least start to rebuild your company. At least let me explain what we have in mind." Jack was still standing, patiently waiting for an invitation to sit. All of his attention was focused on this conversation – he didn't worry about anything else, since he knew that Varth was watching his back. "Lord Osiric Hendrake already has a company of infantry," Ironfist said. Jack wasn't surprised at Angrenbor's knowledge, but he was wary about the man's reaction. "That is true," Jack acknowledged. "But my lord would also like to have the services of a company of cavalry available if needed. What we want to do is provide you with barracks, equipment, wages for the men, and the like, until you have the company ready for contract. At that point, Lord Osiric would get first opportunity to contract your new company." "Why me?" Ironfist asked. "Because it is said that you are the best." Which was one reason Jack had suggested this to Osiric. Jack had no intention of telling Angrenbor that the other reason was to try to make up for Caranthor's poor behavior. "Well, I used to be," Angrenbor muttered. "How much are you offering me?" "We're offering to pay your company's expenses until they're trained." "How much?" the mercenary demanded. "Standard wages and equipment for a mercenary company in training. Your own payment comes in the form of the company itself once training is complete." Varth's busy eye had been scanning the room, and Jack could tell that Varth was getting upset that Jack had not yet been invited to sit. Captain Angrenbor noticed Jack's glance at Varth. "Who's your friend?" Ironfist barked a challenge. "Just a friend. He likes to accompany me to make sure I don't get into trouble," Jack replied coolly. He felt no need to tell the mercenary captain Varth's name because Angrenbor might be as well informed as he wanted to seem. Jack could see from the surroundings that Angrenbor often frequented the lower quarters, where Varth had a certain reputation. "When you are sitting with me, the only trouble you might have is with me." Ironfist glared at Jack. "But I haven't been invited to sit with you," Jack reminded him gently. The older man irritably waved Jack to a seat. Jack sat and motioned for Varth to join them. Jack figured that if Varth sat opposite they could still watch each other's backs. Varth evidently had the same idea, because he chose the seat across from Jack and gingerly sat down. While Varth wasn't fully able to hide his deadly aura as he crossed the room, he was careful to make it clear that he was not moving to attack. Captain Angrenbor ordered a round of drinks, and finished the one he had gotten when Jack and Varth walked in. Ironfist said, "You still haven't told me how much you are offering." "Osiric is offering to rebuild your company," Jack replied, puzzled. "I don't intend to lead a company ever again," Ironfist said quietly. Jack was startled. That was one thing he hadn't expected. "May I ask why not?" "Because I recently lost a company," the mercenary said gravely. "I was responsible for all of those men. I don't intend to place myself in that position again." "But it wasn't your fault," Jack protested. It was clear that Angrenbor had been hurt more than Jack had realized. Captain Angrenbor replied firmly, "Nonetheless, they were my men and I am still responsible." Jack couldn't argue that point. It was true. Angrenbor might have researched the Captain who was supposed to support him and either refused contract or pushed for other arrangements. It was not his dishonor, but still his responsibility. "Would you be willing to train men, though?" Jack pursued. "Yes," Ironfist returned slowly. "But why would your Lord want me to train his men?" "Because he wants the best," Jack replied. "People don't say that about me anymore," he muttered. "What do you say?" Jack demanded. Ironfist looked at me. "What do you mean?" "Are you the best?" "I am - or at least I was," he replied grimly. "Good. If you had said anything else we would have nothing further to discuss," Jack concluded coolly. "But I still won't lead men," Ironfist insisted. At a loss for what to say, Jack asked Captain Angrenbor, "What do you intend to do, then?" "What do you mean?" Ironfist asked darkly. "I mean what do you want to do next? What do you want from life?" Jack knew he was asking questions that were none of his business, but if he could find out exactly what Captain Angrenbor did want, he might be able to help him get it. And in the process, get Osiric what he needed as well. "I just want my next drink!" Ironfist growled. "My Lord doesn't need a drunk," Jack said grimly. Ironfist scowled at me. "I'm not a drunk." "Not yet," Jack amended. He was half afraid the mercenary would get angry, but he didn't. Unable or unwilling to meet Jack's gaze Ironfist looked down at the table. His eyes still on the table, Captain Angrenbor seemed to notice Varth's signet ring for the first time. He paused for a moment then turned to Jack and said, "You are a retainer of Lord Osiric Hendrake?" Jack wasn't sure what the mercenary was getting at, but he said "I am sworn to House Randgrith." After a slight pause Ironfist replied, "You gave the House name. I am a little surprised. But you serve Osiric Hendrake?" "I do." Which was true. Jack might choose to serve in his own way, but he did serve. Ironfist turned to Varth consideringly, and with a nod at Varth's signet ring asked "Where did you get that?" Varth looked at Jack in surprise, who could only shrug in puzzlement. "It was given to me by a woman very close to me," Varth said hesitantly. "Some doxie or trollop?" the Captain insisted, staring into Varth's face. Suddenly Varth became very still. Coldly enough to freeze, he said, "My mother." Ironfist's eyes fell back to his drink and he said, "My most sincere apologies." It sounded sincere. Jack was lost so he sat there watching and sipping slowly from the warm and dirty ale. Looking back at Varth, Ironfist asked, "Do you know where she got it?" "She told me that it had belonged to my father. She said if I ever decided to find him, the ring would give me a place to start." Varth was still speaking carefully –- unused to sharing personal things, but not wanting to lose any source of information about his father. "Yes, that it would." Ironfist said with a slight smile. "Though that is your father's personal crest - he did not bear a house crest." Then the smile faded, "Unfortunately your father has been dead many years. He died on the field of battle." "Honorably?" Varth asked. "Yes. Honorably. He was always brave," Ironfist said nostalgically. "Then I have no family at all," Varth said. "That's not true," Jack said. "You have me." Varth smiled slightly. "You have more family than you know," Ironfist said, looking deep into his cup. Both Varth and Jack froze. It was evident that Captain Angrenbor knew who Varth's father was. "Do you want me to leave?" Jack asked Varth. "No. Of all the people I know, I trust you the most," Varth said absently, never taking his eyes off the mercenary captain. Captain Angrenbor had evidently come to some decision. "I will raise the men and train them, and train a lieutenant to officer them. I will not lead them. What you do with them after training is your business," he said finally. "Very well. Decide on your fee. Osiric will pay whatever you honestly feel is justified," Jack said. Angrenbor had changed the subject rather abruptly. Jack wasn't sure where this converstion would go next, but the shift to business was clearly to give Angenbor a few moments to think. Jack wondered what about Varth's parentage made the mercenary captain hesitate. Varth shot a desperate look at Jack and searched for words. Jack nodded reassurance to Varth, and the young assassin turned back to Captain Angrenbor to slowly ask the question most important to him. "Do you know any reason why someone would send two shadowkin to kill my mother?" One of Varth's main ambitions was to avenge his mother. It was not enough that he had killed the two shadowkin that had attacked her. Varth wanted whoever had sent them. Jack would have felt the same way, and had promised to help Varth in any way possible. Yet for some reason Captain Angrenbor seemed reluctant to tell Varth his father's name. Varth sensed that reluctance, and was prepared to fence around the subject with the same delicacy he displayed with a blade. "No. What was your mother's name?" Captain Angrenbor asked slowly. "Her name was Tara," Varth replied. Captain Angrenbor nodded as if the information confirmed what he already knew. "Did she have anything valuable?" Ironfist questioned. "Not really. She gave me the signet ring years before her death. She had nothing else of value. Could she," Varth hesitated, "could she have been killed by accident? Maybe the shadowkin were looking for someone else?" "Do shadowkin usually make that kind of mistake?" Ironfist said it kindly, but both Varth and Jack knew that shadowkin do not make that kind of mistake. Ever. But it occurred to Jack that it was possible that the shadowkin had been after Varth -- if Jack's growing suspicion the significance of Varth's parentage was correct. Ironfist said consideringly, "Either she had something or she knew something of value. I don't know of any reason someone might want her dead. As I said, your father died in battle, but I can't think of any reason someone might have wanted him dead, either. Your father Telchar's marriage to Tara was not exactly approved of by the family, but that's mostly because the family didn't know Telchar had married; he didn't ask. Your grandfather is alive and he lives in Freehaven, but he doesn't know about the marriage either, nor does he know about you. He wouldn't acknowledge you even if you went to him. Your father was a third son, and wasn't a threat to anyone. In fact, he left the family to go his own way. You wouldn't be threat to anyone either, as far as I know. I can tell you this," Ironfist looked Varth in the eye, "just in case you wondered. Only death could have kept your father away from you and your mother." Varth was still afraid to ask the name of the man who was his father -- he could hardly believe that this chance meeting would give him that information, and he was afraid to ruin it. He was also still a little shaken by the information that he had family. Aside from a sister who had left long ago, Varth had been sure that he had no family at all. Varth looked at Jack with that faint gleam of darkness in his eye that meant he was thinking about the death of his mother. "You know if my father's family is responsible for the death of my mother I will have to kill every member of the family," Varth said grimly. "I have sworn it." Ironfist's expression told Jack that he had been afraid of this. "I think that it is very unlikely that your father's family had anything to do with it. Most if not all of them did not even know your father was married. Even if they knew, your father was no threat to anyone in the family. It is more likely that it is someone with some other reason - either an old grudge or some political enemy outside the family." Varth didn't seem convinced, so Ironfist looked at Jack and said, "Maybe you would understand if I told you that Telchar's last name was Cloamby." He waited for a response. A response Jack was momentarily unable to give. Yes, he knew the name of Cloamby very well. Jack had sworn his vows to House Randgrith to the man who was the senior member of the Randgrith Blood in this area at the time. Jack had sworn his oaths to Telchar Cloamby's father. Which made Varth a distant cousin of Osiric, and a member of the Randgrith Blood Lineal. Damn! Now Jack had to convince Varth that his father's family wouldn't have hired shadowkin to kill Tara. While Jack struggled to find something to say, Varth and Ironfist were discussing ways of proving Varth's legitimacy to the family. "Well, Telchar and Tara were married. That would give you a place to start," Captain Angrenbor was saying. "I don't know Tara's family name, but you have Telchar's". Varth was nodding. "I don't know how to go about proving something like that, though," Varth replied hesitantly. "Are there records or something? I can't see where to start." "I can," Jack responded. "If your parents were married in a religious ceremony there would be a record. We just have to do a little footwork to find it. In addition, your mother's family name would be recorded. Perhaps it was something to do with her family that resulted in her death." Jack knew that Varth's mother had only turned to the street after his father's death. In her previous life she could have been anything at all. Varth turned to Jack and said, "So why are you so sure that it wasn't my father's family? Just who are they, anyway?" Ironfist was gazing at Jack from beneath hooded eyelids. "You started this," Jack said to the mercenary irritably. "You finish it." "Are you sure?" Angrenbor asked. "I thought it might come best from a friend." Ironfist was right. "Yes, I suppose so." Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Jack swallowed the last of the bitter greasy liquid in his cup. Taking a deep breath, Jack began. "Varth, you are Osiric's cousin. The Cloambys are the local branch of House Randgrith. You are a member of the Randgrith Blood Lineal." Jack paused to see what effect this news had on Varth. The young street assassin seemed to be taking it calmly, but his pale face belied his shock. "No one will believe it without proof, though," Captain Angrenbor stressed. "You'll want to keep it quiet until you have that proof." Jack agreed, though he privately thought Osiric would believe it. Captain Angrenbor wasn't finished. "And depending upon your mother's original station, you might easily be ranked nearly as high as Lord Osiric. You might well have a place within the House." Varth shook his head, "I don't want what Osiric has. Some lord I'd be. I don't have the education or the polish for it." Ironfist disagreed, "That's not true. Any of that can be learned if you want to." For a few minutes they sat around around the table quietly, each absorbed in his own private thoughts. An ex-mercenary captian, an ex-street assasin who had just found out he was a lord, and Jack Spryte. A stray thought occurred to Jack; now he had yet another Randgrith lord to watch over. So much for early retirement. As they ended our reverie and decided to leave, they noticed that it was still early evening. After some discussion, Varth and Jack decided to look at the local churches for records of Telchar and Tara's marriage. "I think I'll come with you," Angrenbor said. "Telchar was my friend," he said casually. "I wasn't able to save him on the battlefield, and I wasn't here for his family when they were attacked. I feel like I let Telchar down, and I'd like to help if I can. I'm also rather curious about Tara," he finished. The mercenary captain seemed sincere, but Jack had noticed an odd stress in his voice when he said that Telchar was his friend. The ease with which he had said it seemed a little forced, and Jack was suddenly on guard. Jack had been convinced that Angrenbor and Telchar had been good friends, and that migh explain his interest in his friend's only living offspring, but now Jack thought that there might be more to it. The Randgrith spy didn't say anything, but decided to watch Angrenbor carefully. Varth was Jack's friend, and Jack didn't intend to let a stranger do him harm. In addition, Jack had agreed to contract this man for Osiric, who was his liege lord -- and Jack wasn't going to allow Angrenbor to jeopardize Osiric, either. So as they left the dive they had found Angrenbor in and went to the first of the churches Jack remembered in Freehaven, Jack watched the ex-mercenary captain. Breathing into a light meditation as they walked, Jack opened himself to his sean-aoidh senses. Sean-aoidh is the "ancient-fire" that is at the heart of the Cymric Teinne Doigh, it is the life energy present in each man. Jack didn't like what he saw when he looked at Angrenbor. The mercenary captain wasn't hostile -- in that state Jack would have sensed it if the man intended to attack. But Jack started to feel how dangerous Angrenbor was, and he didn't like it. From the way the mercenary captain moved, Jack could tell that he was aware of his body and its surroundings far too well. The skill level implied by that degree of "being-in-the-body" placed him at the master level. Varth and Jack had learned a few tricks on the street that might give them an edge, but Angrenbor had probably learned as many or more tricks on the battlefield. Jack's final assessment was that all other things being equal, Angrenbor could probably match Varth and Jack together. Of course, all things are never equal, and Jack would do everything he could to make sure the inequality worked in his favor. After going to three temples and coming up empty, Angrenbor suggested that they eat at an inn he knew of. Jack thought of the place we had found him in, and he hesitated. "It won't be like that place earlier," Angrenbor grinned. "This is a decent place." Shrugging slightly, Jack looked at Varth. "Sure, why not? We haven't eaten since before noon, and I know I'm hungry," Varth said, and then grinned as Jack rolled his eyes. "You're always hungry," Jack said disgustedly, but Varth knew he was only jesting. They stopped by Osiric's townhouse to invite Unkus so the Pict could see Freehaven. The tribesman agreed with a grin and the four walked briskly through the city streets. Once they got to the tavern, Angrenbor seemed more open, and Varth started to ask questions about his father. "What was his preferred weapon?" Varth asked. "Well, he would use almost anything -- whatever was appropriate to the situation, I guess." Angrenbor replied. "But as a mercenary, the usual weapon was a long sword." Cocking his head to one side Varth narrowed his eyes challengingly, but Jack could see a mischievous twinkle. "Was he any good?" he demanded. Angrenbor must have noticed the twinkle too, because one side of his mouth quirked like he was fighting a smile. "He was a master." Varth grinned and looked at Jack. "Guess I take after old dad, huh?" "You think too highly of yourself," Jack replied. But Varth's skill with a blade was considerable. "And he was a skilled horseman, as well," Angrenbor added. Jack had to laugh at the expression on Varth's face. If there was one creature Varth could do without, it was a horse. Somehow Varth and horses just didn't get along. "Well, maybe you don't take after him all that much," Jack observed with a smirk. While the three relaxed and chatted after dinner, the door to the tavern opened and all conversation paused. Standing in the doorway was an individual even larger than Captain Angrenbor. Jack blinked twice to make sure there wasn't a problem with his eyes, because in addition to being big, the person wasn't even human. There are a number of non-human races, of course; Jack knew that, but he wasn't familiar with this one. It was obvious that the newcomer wasn't Eldhellin (elvish) or Khazadi (dwarvish). He went to the bar and ordered food and sat at an empty table nearby to wait. When Jack turned back to the table, he noticed that Angrenbor was intent on the newcomer. Not angry, but wary. As Varth was checking the newcomer over for weapons, Jack leaned over to Angrenbor and asked, "Is there a problem, here?" Shaking his head slightly, Angrenbor responded, "Not really. Zhad is an Urkk. He and I served together once or twice. We got along ok, but he has a big mouth." So now Jack knew what an Urkk looked like. That could be useful. What was an Urkk? Jack turned to get another look at Zhad. Just looked big and ugly to Jack, but he would remember the race in the future. "If he starts anything, just remember it is between him and me," Angrenbor said as Jack and Varth settled back into their seats. At this, Jack guessed that Zhad had been one of those making comments about Angrenbor's recent losses. Varth shrugged, "But what if he starts it with us?" Varth didn't like to be left out of a fight. Jack shook his head. "Don't kill anyone, Varth," Jack said. "I don't want to go to jail. I didn't like it the first time, and I don't want to repeat it." Jack's time in the Morgadh County Gaol had not been entirely wasted -- it was there that he had met Doerblan, his first instructor in the intricacies of the Teinne Doigh -- but it had been an experience Jack felt no need to repeat. Varth looked at Jack disgustedly, "Fine, no blades. Since I met you, I never get to have any fun!" Jack knew that the comment was only half in jest, but he ignored it. Turning to Angrenbor, Jack commented, "You have contracted with House Randgrith, and I cannot allow some ruffians to defame your name now that it is connected to Osiric's. At least, not if there is a way to prevent it. But Zhad is yours." Angrenbor looked insulted, but he didn't say anything and simply nodded sourly. Jack sat back and admitted to himself that he hadn't lost his talent for offending people. Perhaps it was a good thing that Unkus spoke another language. Zhad simply sat waiting until his food was delivered, so Jack and his companions remained in their seats and discussed the upcoming journey that they would be taking with Osiric. Angrenbor told them that the area where Osiric's father had been lost was infested with Uruk-Los -- the goblins from which Goblin had taken his name. The goblins were dangerous fighters; they had been in an all out war with the dwarves for generations, and were holding their own. They were an underground people, who don't venture above ground very often. The news was disturbing to Jack, considering the small size of their party. Then Ironfist raised the possibility that he might be able to find a lieutenant already trained to take over the troop he was to raise. He could then set up basic training schedules which the lieutenant could carry out until the troop was at a basic minimum level of skill. Angrenbor would then only have to perform the advanced training. Not sure if he was offering to accompany them if this possibility panned out -- since Angrenbor would be free from instructional duties at least for a time -- Jack asked him if he might be open to contract as a guide. He had shown knowledge of the area in question, and he was a skilled fighter. This would give Jack the opportunity to watch the man, and to do something if Angrenbor turned out to be a danger. "I might not be able to find an experienced lieutenant," Angrenbor answered, "so there isn't much point in discussing it until I know." Jack knew an evasion when he heard one, but he didn't press the issue. During the conversation, five humans had joined Zhad at his table. Jack was relieved, because the amount of food that Zhad had on his table was rather intimidating. If the Urkk had eaten it all himself, Jack would have been impressed. Unfortunately, Zhad and his companions had begun drinking, and were starting to make comments directed at Captain Angrenbor. At this point Angrenbor couldn't leave, since that might have been taken as fleeing a confrontation. But he was starting to get angry at the comments, which continued to grow louder and less subtle. Varth leaned over to Jack. "What do you want to do?" Varth inquired quietly, his eyes gleaming in anticipation. "Let's give people a chance to leave," Jack replied. "Then you can make some insulting comments in return." Jack figured he might as well put his talent for offending people to use. Varth nodded and Jack started trying to catch the eyes of other patrons of the restaurant. Whenever successful, Jack would nod his head toward the door as a clear signal to leave. Everyone had felt the rising tension between these two tables. The owner even turned away one man after he saw what Jack was doing, inviting the man to come back tomorrow for a free meal. It would have been bad for business if the customers got hurt. Slowly the area around the two tables cleared out as people left. Jack took a few moments to reach out with his sean-aoidh sense to get a feel for Zhad and his companions. None of them had highly developed sean-aoidh of their own, and Jack could tell that the newcomers were not exactly elite troops. Zhad was harder to read, since he was unhuman and Jack was not familiar with the way his people normally move. Jack assumed that Angrenbor would know if he could manage Zhad, since they had served together. Once ready, Jack gave Varth an insult to repeat. Unkus hadn't been part of the discussion, so he heard the insult for the first time and laughed aloud. Zhad began roaring in that strange language of his as he stood, and to Jack's surprise Captain Angrenbor began roaring back in apparently the same language. Zhad's companions stood up as he began to pound on the table. It was a good thing for them that they did, since a few moments later Zhad grabbed the edge of the table and threw it over. Food and crockery went crashing to the floor, followed quickly by the table itself. With a scream of rage Zhad charged at Captain Angrenbor. Since Varth and Jack were between the two, Zhad's path would take him right through them -- or at least, that seemed to be his intention. Since Jack had promised Angrenbor that the mercenary camptain could have Zhad, Jack stepped to the side but somehow seemed to forget to take his right leg with him. After a hurried look at Jack, Varth did the same, and Zhad's charge took him right into the legs the two had stretched out across his path. With the treacherous footing caused by the food on the floor, the Urkk was unable to alter his course and the outstretched legs caught him on both shins. Varth and Jack watched in awe as the Urkk's massive body performed a perfect arc from where they had snagged his legs directly into the edge of Angrenbor's table. It was like watching some huge and ponderous siege engine at work. Zhad's forehead impacted the table's edge with a crack like thunder, shooting the table towards Angrenbor, who leaped back in startlement. The Urkk's head continued unslowed toward the floor, where it bounced on the wooden planks. Twice. There was a moment of silence like that after some unparalleled performance by a master troubadour. Jack half expected the silence to be broken with applause, but was disappointed. Instead the moment was broken as Zhad stirred with a groan. As he did, Jack noticed that Unkus had rescued his drink from the table before Zhad hit it, and Jack thought to himself that they'd make a city boy out of the Pict yet. The grin on the young Pict's face seemed to agree. Zhad's companions finally broke their paralysis and they rushed at Jack and Varth. The three on Jack's side got in each other's way as they slipped on the grease and crockery, so Varth actually got to strike the first blow. For all his size and strength, Varth was as fast as Jack, and this time he was faster. After that, Jack got too busy to watch Varth, since the three mercenaries rushing him finally reached him. Keeping in mind that this was just a friendly little scuffle, Jack held back. He didn't want to kill anyone accidentally, and besides, he was rather enjoying the excitement. Stepping into the first mercenary's charge, Jack double punched into his chest and stomach. As the mercenary bounced backward, Jack ducked beneath the swing of his friend. The first mercenary was still trying to catch his breath as he feebly punched at Jack, who blocked the punch with an easy flick of a wrist and countered with a ridge-hand to the man's forehead. As the mercenary's head snapped to the side Jack was forced to block two other blows from the last mercenary, who had finally decided to join the fray. Jack slide-stepped around the first mercenary, who was still trying to recover his balance, to put him between Jack and the other two -- who promptly tripped into one another. Suppressing a gleeful laugh at their antics, Jack launched a spinning backfist which connected with a hollow thunk into the back of the first mercenary's skull. The mercenary tried to emulate Zhad's graceful fall, but couldn't quite manage it and ended up doing more of a crumpling thing. Jack stepped back to wait on the other two, who would have to step over their unconscious comrade to reach him. Jack took a quick look at Varth while he had a moment. Varth had the two mercenaries he was fighting pushed back in the small space between the bar and the overturned table. So far no-one seemed hurt, but Varth was certainly holding his own as the two mercenaries facing Jack recovered themselves and started forward. Jack caught them off guard as he suddenly leapt forward into a side kick, which sent one of the men stumbling. The other man swung a beautiful looping haymaker at Jack, which Jack paused to admire before ducking beneath it to get at the man he had just kicked. The kicked man recovered his balance and tried to slam an elbow into Jack's face. As Jack blocked the blow with his forearm, he heard Varth grunt in pain. Suddenly Jack lost his sense of humor about the situation, and shot a spear hand thrust into the soft part of the mercenary's torso just below his breast bone. Jack's fingertips sank a couple of inches into the mercenary's body, who curled around the point of impact with a groan. As he sank to the floor Jack turned to face the last mercenary just in time to see Varth punch with all his considerable strength straight into the neck of one of the two men attacking him. Varth's strength was such that the man simply rotated in midair and dropped with a thud to the floor. Jack was relieved to see that Varth appeared to be fine, though the man he had just downed was wheezing through a damaged throat. The two remaining mercenaries took a look at their three downed companions and raised their hands in surrender. Jack didn't think they liked the odds. He didn't blame them -- Varth and Jack had the mercenaries outnumbered two to two. Shaking his hair back, Jack turned to look at Angrenbor and Zhad. Unkus was standing somewhat to the side of their table, which to Jack's amazement was still upright and in almost the same place. Ironfist and Zhad were facing each other across the table and growling in that guttural speech which Jack assumed was Zhad's native tongue. Ironfist appeared unruffled, though Zhad was somewhat disheveled. Noticing the stillness, Ironfist looked over to see Varth and Jack standing over their downed opponents. Switching to Adunaic, Ironfist said, "It looks like your companions are leaving you." He nodded toward the fallen mercenaries.
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Thursday, February 21, 2008
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Current mood:  cynical
Category: Writing and Poetry
Scroupe’s seneschal looked for an instant as though he’d been kicked in the gut, but he quickly recovered. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he blustered. "But if you’re accusing me of being involved on the attacks on your Holding, it’s a damned lie. I won’t stand here and listen to this, Lady Fiona."
"Then perhaps the Freehaven Council of Lords will be willing to listen to us," Jack said nonchalantly. "Particularly since we have the evidence." Lady Fiona shot a startled look at Jack, and Osiric closed his eyes for a moment. Weldron was still rocking from the accusation, though, and didn’t notice.
"You don’t have any evidence," he sneered with empty bravado.
"We have the money Lord Scroupe gave to the Ingaes, brought to us by a representative of that tribe." Jack waved a hand, and Unkus stepped out of a doorway, a leather pouch in his hand, into which he reached to pull out a handful of gold coins.
"The coins are Freehaven mint. There’s no way the Ingaes could have gotten this much Freehaven gold without being given it. We also witnessed with our own eyes the money changing hands, and the Ingaes are willing to testify as to the covenants of the deal. Your master has lost this game," Jack concluded with grim certainty. Sir Weldron stared appalled at the Pict warrior standing there with a handful of gold.
At last he turned beseechingly to Lady Fiona. "I swear, you’d not have been harmed, Lady," he explained desperately. "My Lord Scroupe would have made sure you had whatever you needed."
At these damning words Lady Fiona paled. Everyone stood shocked and silent at the admission. Eventually Fiona straightened her spine as she looked Weldron grimly in the eye and replied, "What I need is Dumni Holding, and my people safe. You tried to take away my Holding and you murdered my people, you bastard, and I’ll see you swing for it."
Sir Weldron’s jaw clenched in anger and he tore his sword out of its sheath. "I’ll not hang, not for some worthless peasants. Kill them!" he shouted to the men he’d brought as he lunged toward Unkus. Osiric and Jack had both seen Weldron tensing to attack. Osiric was already thrusting Lady Fiona behind himself as Jack leapt to meet Sir Weldron’s charge.
Jack caught Weldron’s long blade on the sturdy short sword he had drawn in his left hand and swept it to the side as he went in close. Weldron was well trained and experienced, but he was no street brawler and he wasn’t sure what to do with Jack right there against him. Jack used that advantage as he locked the sword hilts to the side and thrust his free arm toward Weldron’s face. The impact of Jack’s elbow against Weldron’s nose snapped the seneschal’s head back. Jack didn’t give the larger man any room as he pushed the still-locked swords toward the ground and grabbed the knight’s shoulder. A sharp knee to the groin lifted Weldron to his toes, and Jack slid the edge of his hand under the man’s chin and stepped forward into him. Jack continued moving the same direction as he turned, stepped through, and pulled on the locked hilts and pushed on Weldron’s chin. The knight spun in the air to fall hard on his back against the stone courtyard. Jack dropped his weight as the larger man fell; pushing with the edge of his hand against Weldron’s chest, and the knight’s head struck the stones hard enough to stun. If Jack had wanted to kill the man, he’d have continued pushing against his chin as he dropped, slamming him head first into the stones; his skull would have cracked like a ripe melon. But since Jack wanted the knight alive to stand trial, he’d made certain Weldron’s shoulders hit first. Jack could tell from the slackness in Weldron’s body that he was unconscious, so he flipped the knight’s sword away and spun to face the mercenaries that had come with him.
As soon as Weldron’s mercenaries had pulled their weapons, Varth had acted. He’d stuck a knife hilt deep in the withers of one of the rearmost horses. It had reared and dumped its rider, then charged forward, knocking down two other horses in its haste to get away from that knife. Those three mercenaries were still down, and confusion reigned at the rear of the mercenary group. Osiric had his repeating pistol out -- a heavy piece of custom hand workmanship that cost more than some manor houses, it could fire six shots as quickly as Osiric could cock it. Osiric winced in regret as he followed Varth’s lead and shot one of the horses in the front of the group, dumping horse and rider to the ground. Caradoc was coolly drawing back his bow and had loosed at least two arrows; a third arrow took a mercenary through the shoulder as Jack watched. A half dozen of the mercenaries had their swords out, and were charging Varth and three of Lady Fiona’s squires. Two more, still mounted, were beginning a charge toward Osiric, but they suddenly ran into each other, and then both horses started staggering dizzily about. Jack looked about and saw Goblin smile thinly as he put some undoubtedly nasty object away in his vest before picking up his battle axe and striding forward to stand with Jack between Osiric and the mercenaries.
"Hold!" shouted the mercenary sergeant who led the contingent as he turned face his troops. "Hold, damn it!"
Only twelve of the mercenaries were still able, and half of those were on foot now. Varth allowed those still facing his rapier and long knife to disengage and back warily away. Two of them were bleeding, and at least one was down on the ground unmoving.
The sergeant turned back to Lady Fiona. "M’lady, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we weren’t hired to make war on you. We’re supposed to be fighting Picts, damn it, and I’ll not see my men killed because of some blue-blood’s treachery."
"Then lay down your arms, sergeant, and yield," replied Lady Fiona firmly. "The truth remains your men drew their weapons within my courtyard. We are perfectly justified in defending ourselves, and I will not simply allow you to leave. By the laws of Freehaven, you are at this moment no better than bandits. Best to let the magistrates sort out any misunderstandings."
The sergeant sighed, but nodded his understanding. "Lay down your swords, men, and do as the Lady says." The mercenaries sheathed their weapons and dropped them to the ground. Those few still mounted swung down, and were herded together by Varth and Lady Fiona’s squires.
"Squire Eowyn will show you where to put them," Lady Fiona directed, and the young woman dressed in warrior garb nodded sharply. "Sergeant, go with your men. We’ll take care of your wounded and bring them to you if they are able."
The sergeant nodded sourly and led his demoralized men after Squire Eowyn.
Lady Fiona turned to Osiric as her steward began organizing the servants to deal with the wounded. "Thank you for your aid, Lord Osiric," she said. "The plot might never have come to light, and many more of my people would have died. But Harald Scroupe still remains."
Osiric nodded thoughtfully as he tucked his pistol back into his belt. "But we do have Sir Weldron. With your sworn testimony and mine, I feel confident that the Freehaven authorities will be able to... hmm... convince Sir Weldron to admit the truth. Surely the Council of Lords will not permit Scroupe to continue to threaten the peace."
Lady Fiona nodded agreement. "Then we’d best get this matter before the magistrates as soon as possible." She shook her head in dismay. "I don’t understand what could have possessed the man. When we used to play together as children, he was always defending those weaker than himself; he was kind, and generous. Something monstrous must have happened to him to bring him to this. And now, the council will likely strip him of his lands and title. I hope whoever buys Delwyn’s grant will prove to be a better neighbor."
Osiric and Jack looked at each other. The speculative gleam in Osiric’s eyes told Jack they’d had the same thought. If the Council did strip Scroupe’s title from him, Osiric might be permitted to purchase the grant, and become Lord of Delwyn Holding. It was a profitable demesne, and it would give House Randgrith an official voice in Freehaven. It was an avenue well worth exploring, and Jack inclined his head at Osiric’s raised brow. He’d start collecting information immediately.
The following morning, the large group departed for Freehaven with an unhappy Sir Weldron tied to his horse. The mercenaries were locked up in a few stout cells in the basement of Caer Dumni, guarded by Lady Fiona’s squires. They dared not delay contacting Freehaven’s Council. Once Lord Scroupe became aware of Fiona’s intent, he might well set the rest of his mercenaries on her. They took one of the rough trading paths through the forest to avoid Scroupe’s road wardens, which delayed them so that it was mid afternoon before they reached Freehaven. Lady Fiona led the group directly to the Court building, where she was quickly passed to an interview with a sitting magistrate.
Over the next three days, Scroupe fled with a few of his men, and the mercenary Captain Howell ap’Owen surrendered to the Court with a copy of a standard garrison contract between Scroupe and himself. Scroupe was stripped of his title and lands, and Weldron was hanged for his part in the whole affair. Justice did tend to be swift in Freehaven.
"Jack," Osiric began. "What do you have for me?"
The two men were sitting in the private study of Osiric’s town house in Freehaven less than a week later, and Jack was preparing to give his report regarding the possibility of Osiric purchasing the Delwyn title.
"Well, my lord," Jack replied with a smile, "Lady Fiona seems to have laid some of the groundwork for you. It seems she’d not mind having you as a neighbor. We have a number of factors that actually work in our favor; this has been a rather difficult year, with the turmoil in Dalarda, the succession wars in Rheged, and the religious uprising in Thuringia -- trade hasn’t been good, and there are few bidders for this title. The Council of Lords can’t afford to let the lands go ungoverned though, particularly with the Picts getting stirred up. I’ve arranged for you to have a private meeting with the Lord Chancellor of the Council next week. If you decide to press forward, I think you’ll be awarded the grants."
"And how much will that cost me?" Osiric asked dryly.
"Not so much as we originally feared," Jack replied. "Those factors I just mentioned have greatly reduced the apparent desirability of Delwyn Holding, while making the Council Lords eager for any funds they can find. I think we might even negotiate a reduced tax burden for the first ten years."
Osiric nodded thoughtfully, then the two got down to discussing details. By the time they were done, Osiric had neatly memorized the information Jack had brought. Osiric was as prepared as Jack could make him for a meeting with the Lord Chancellor.
"There’s one other thing, Osiric," Jack said. "I think you could further improve your position by demonstrating that you’ll be able to defend Delwyn Holding if the Ingaes keep raiding."
"I think," Osiric mused as he looked at Jack, "that you’re up to something. Just how do you propose that I demonstrate this defensive capability?"
"By having an agreement already in place to employ troops at Delwyn Hold. A contingent contract, if you will, that would not take force until you were invested with the Delwyn title."
"And what mercenary troop will make such a binding agreement without a guarantee of work?" Osiric asked with an amused smile, already seeing where Jack was going.
"Perhaps one whose own contract situation is somewhat murky at the moment," Jack replied with an answering smile.
"You’re talking about ap’Owen and his men."
"Aye, my lord. The ap’Owens are distantly related to the Bevyar, it is true, but I’ve done some checking on Howell ap’Owen, and by all accounts he’s an honest and honorable man," Jack responded. "I don’t like the association with the Bevyar, but rumor has it he’s on the outs with them. They’d sent him out of Dalarda because he was an embarrassment -- he felt they should be supporting the King, not attacking him."
"You think ap’Owen would be willing to work for House Randgrith?" Osiric asked, surprised at last.
"We can ask," Jack replied.
"Invite him to come to dinner this weekend, then, Jack," Osiric decided. "We’ll feel him out before we make an offer. I’d feel better if there were some way to tie him to us, though."
"Well, eventually you will need a seneschal," Jack suggested mildly.
"What, you don’t want the job?" Osiric asked with a laugh.
"I don’t think so," Jack replied with a grin as he stood to leave. "It sounds too much like real work." Osiric was still smiling as Jack left to write out ap’Owen’s invitation.
Osiric was tense with excitement and something more as he gathered them all together after dinner a few days later. He waited until everyone had a glass of his fine brandy before speaking, dragging it out to keep them in suspense.
"Well, my friends," Osiric began, "it appears to be official. The Council of Lords has today signed the charter conferring the grants and titles of Delwyn Holding on one Osiric Hendrake. Jack, that was a good idea, to pursue an agreement with Captain ap’Owen. That really sealed the deal; I think we underestimated how worried the Council was about a Pict uprising. I think that fear is what prompted the quick action on removal of Scroupe."
"Congratulations, old man," Caradoc said heartily as he raised his glass to his childhood friend. "Better you than me, as I always say!"
After the rest of them echoed Caradoc’s congratulations, Osiric settled back in his chair and looked around. "It is good news, of course, but now we’ve got some work to do. Captain ap’Owen says that the servants of Delwyn seem unusually afraid, and tell tales of black magic. We need to go out to Delwyn Hold and take a careful look around."
Goblin nodded brusquely. "I’m ready when you are, Osiric."
"I’d like to go tomorrow, actually," Osiric replied. "Can you going to come with us, Caradoc?"
"You know you don’t have to ask," Caradoc replied gruffly. "Besides, I want to check on Fiona."
They discussed what they’d need to take with them, since Osiric’s intention was to stay at Delwyn for some weeks while he put everything into order. Eventually, he’d be living at Delwyn Hold permanently, but this was an initial visit. As they wrapped up the discussion, Jack broached a new subject.
"Osiric," Jack started. "I’ve been thinking about a discussion we had some months ago, in which you said you thought that sometime soon House Randgrith was might need a force at arms if we wanted to block House Bevyar from taking Dalarda. I’ve thought of a way to augment Howell ap’Owens infantry platoon, while getting us the contacts we’d need to hire more men when the time comes."
"I’ve been thinking along those lines myself," Varth added. "Unfortunately, the kind of fighters I know aren’t the kind that would make good soldiers. They wouldn’t take well to discipline."
Jack nodded. "We need someone with a reputation among mercenaries, the kind of reputation that can attract the better kind of soldier."
"Who did you have in mind?" Osiric asked.
"Rumor on the street is that a certain Captain Angrenbor is here in Freehaven, currently without a mercenary troop due to a disastrous battle in the Rheged succession wars," Jack replied.
"I’ve heard about that," Caradoc exclaimed as he sat up from his slouch. "But the way I heard it, his losses were due to another mercenary captain who refused to reinforce Angrenbor’s men as he was supposed to."
Jack nodded again. "That’s the story. What you may not know is that the other mercenary captain was Caranthor Grandrith, the son of our current Lord Randgrith. Many of Caranthor’s best men left him after that campaign, and other mercenary captains have refused to work with him. Caranthor has returned to Brythonos, evidently retiring from the mercenary life."
"What makes you think Angrenbor will want to work for House Randgrith after that?" Goblin inquired.
"I don’t know that he will," Jack responded, "but I think we have an obligation to do something for the man, and he’s exactly the kind of man we’re looking for. There’s a story on the street that Angrenbor called Caradoc a bastard, because no genuine Lord of Randgrith could be such a coward. It tells me that Angrenbor may not hold a grudge against the House as a whole."
"Alright, Jack," Osiric said warily. "Go and talk to the man. See if you can hire him. He’s a cavalry officer, isn’t he?" At Jack’s nod Osiric continued thoughtfully, "We might be able to help him hire and equip a new force, with the understanding that we get first right of hire -- and until the training is complete, they work for us. It’d give us extra troops in case of a major Pict raid."
"That’s exactly my thought," Jack offered in agreement.
"There’s another problem," Osiric said reluctantly. "I received a letter from my mother today. One of the retainers that had been with my father when he disappeared has finally shown up again. He’s told her the location of my father’s death. If I’d known before, I’d not have taken on responsibility for Delwyn. As soon as we get things settled, I’m going to have to go to Brythonos for my mother to tell me where my father was killed, and then I’m going to have to go try to find him."
"I understand your desire to reclaim your father’s remains," Goblin said with unaccustomed gentleness. "But why the urgency?"
Osiric grimaced. "It’s not just his remains, or it could wait. My father carried one of the Randgrith heirloom swords with him, one of the older ones that has been part of Randgrith history for hundreds of years."
Jack winced. There are a number of heirloom objects that the Randgrith Blood Lineal held dear. These were generally things with historical significance to House Randgrith, and they confer a certain cachet on the owner. There were only a handful of heirloom swords, and they are particularly special to the Blood Lineal. Losing an heirloom sword meant a significant loss of face for the Line involved.
"My mother seems to fear that some other Radgrith line might recover the sword first, which would be especially embarrassing to Line Hendrake. I must attempt to recover it as soon as I can," Osiric continued glumly. "My mother has visions of Line Hendrake taking on ascendancy in the House, and the recovery of the sword by anyone else might seriously jeopardize that vision."
There’s an odd combination of Blood lines, politics, and accomplishment that go into the determination of the next Lord Randgrith, who would be chosen by a conclave of the Heads of all the Randgrith Blood lines. Osiric’s combined Blood lines placed him very high in the Randgrith rankings, and he could well become Lord Randgrith when Belegor Grandrith dies. There was no question that Osiric’s quest for his father’s sword, even if unsuccessful, was essential if he was to be a candidate for the next Lord Rangrith.
The group sat in mixed pleasure and concern for a few minutes, before Osiric changed the subject to the culture and habits of Pict tribesmen, picking Varth’s brain in preparation for having to deal with that race.
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Monday, February 11, 2008
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Current mood:  optimistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi, everyone! Been gone a while. My father’s death hit me harder than expected. But I have a short story being published in an anthology coming out the middle of March, so I’m excited about that. The anthology is called Return of the Sword, and my story is called "Guardian of Rage". The short story is actually a prologue to a novel length work called Shieldbreaker, which over the next 20 weeks or so I’m going to be posting as a serial here on MySpace. The first installment is below. Hope you all enjoy, and check out the anthology as well; "The Guardian of Rage" explains some important things about how the protagonist becomes the man he is...
SHIELDBREAKER A Fantasy Novel By Thomas M. MacKay CHAPTER 1 – Five years later Late on a spring afternoon five years later, Jack returned to the Freehaven town home of his sworn lord from another information gathering trip in Dalarda. Lord Osiric Hendrake was the Head of Line Hendrake and Heir to Line Helmgrim. Jack left his horse with the groom and made his way into the back of the house. Another of Osiric’s sworn men, Varth Tarason, was lounging just inside in traveling gear, munching on a piece of bread. "Did I miss dinner?" Jack asked, disappointed. Varth looked up with an engaging grin. He and Jack had become fast friends in the year since Jack had found him plying the trade of assassin in the streets of Freehaven. Varth had been an odd sort of assassin, given to performing work for free in defense of the defenseless. Jack had convinced Varth he could do more for people in need as a vassal member of House Randgrith. "Well, we’ve eaten, but you’re not going to," Varth replied to Jack’s question with a chuckle. "You made it just in time to leave with us." "Where are we going?" "A Randgrith cousin named Lady Fiona is having trouble with Picts raiding her holding out West," he said. "Osiric decided we’d all go to see if we could help. Even Goblin is going." Goblin was a mage; born a lord in House Randgrith, Goblin and his two brothers had all forgone their place in the Blood Lines a half century before to pursue magery. Goblin was sworn to Osiric as well. Caradoc was Osiric’s cousin, and heir of Line Valurae. The two Randgrith lords had grown up together and were as close as brothers. Caradoc was also something of a black sheep of the family. He was a talented woodsman with little patience for the trappings and attitudes of the nobility. He was also tremendously loyal, and if a member of the family was in need, there was no question but that he would go to aid her. Jack sighed. "I guess you’re right. I’d better go along. Four people isn’t a lot against a Pict warband, even with a mage along." "But with you along, we’ll have them well outnumbered," Varth said slyly. Jack shrugged with a wry grin. It was his place to be with Osiric if he was going to do something like this. Jack settled his pack on the bench next to Varth and went upstairs to get some clean clothes. When he came back down, the housekeeper was waiting with a sack of food. "Glad you’re here, now, Jack," she said to Jack with a maternal smile, as she handed him the sack. "You take care of our young sir, you hear?" "I will, Marta," Jack replied with a smile. "Thank you for your kindness." "Don’t thank me," she said with gruff embarrassment as she hurried away. "Cook didn’t want you to go hungry." Osiric came down the hall with Caradoc. Their young sir wasn’t that young; he and Caradoc were both not quite thirty years of age, just a couple of years older than Jack. Caradoc carried his ever present long bow. A few weeks ago Jack had teased him about sleeping with the thing. Caradoc had just laughed heartily and admitted that sometimes he did. Osiric had a long sword and his repeating pistol. "Jack!" Osiric said in pleased surprise. "I was afraid we were going to miss you. Did Varth tell you what’s going on?"
"He did, my lord," Jack replied as he shook the proferred hand. "I’m ready to go." "Then we’d best get moving," Osiric said with a glance out the door. "We’ll be making part of the trip in the dark as it is." Caradoc slapped Jack on the back in greeting and gave him a quick pleased nod. Jack liked Osiric’s cousin, though the two Randgrith lords made an odd pair. Caradoc was nearly as broad as Varth, darkened by his time in the sun, while Osiric was tall and pale, with fine blond hair and blue eyes. Goblin was already at the stable directing the activity of the grooms. He had assumed that Jack would be going along and had a fresh mount waiting. Jack had to smile as Varth approached his horse with a grimace. Varth hated horses with a passion, but schooled his face to impassivity as he saw Jack watching. After securing his pack, Jack swung into the saddle with only a slight wince of his own and they were off. Just after dark they reached Lady Fiona’s keep. "Osiric," she said with relief as she took his hand. "I didn’t expect you to come so fast, but I’m so glad you did. I’m out of my depth here, and my people are being slaughtered. Please, sit down," she said to them all before calling a servant to bring wine. "Fiona," Osiric began, "this is my cousin Caradoc Valurae, and my sworn men Goblin, Jack Spryte, and Varth Tarason." They each nodded as he introduced them. "We’re here to help. What’s going on?" "I don’t understand it," she replied as a young woman in masculine livery served the wine. "We’ve always had peaceful relations with the Pict tribes. We don’t encroach on the forest or violate any of their sacred places. But for the last six months, there have been increasingly violent attacks on the people of Dumni Holding. This morning I received a message that one of my hamlets was under attack. I rode out with the few warriors I have, but we were too late. Every man, woman, and child in Fielden was brutally slain by a Pict warband, which chased us half the way back here to Caer Dumni. Fielden had almost sixty residents," she closed her eyes in remembrance. When she opened them again a moment later she continued grimly, "I released all my serfs today so that if they wanted to seek safety, they could. But serfs and free men alike, few of my people have anywhere else to go." "All right," Osiric said calmly. "Start from the beginning, and tell us about the attacks." While Lady Fiona was in the middle of describing the entire history of the attacks, an alarm sounded at the gate. Given the reason for their visit, Osiric and his companions were already a little jumpy, so they got to the top of the wall by the gate in record time. A Pict warrior was gasping slumped against the gate, and a number of shadowy figures running toward the keep from the distant tree line. "Open the gate," said Lady Fiona firmly. At a protest from one of her men, she continued "I’ll not see any man chased down and murdered on my lands. Open the gate." Jack and Varth dashed down the stone steps to the courtyard, and by the time the gate started to crack, they were waiting just inside. Caradoc remained on the wall stringing his ever present bow, Goblin at his side. Once the gate was open far enough, Varth and Jack slipped out into the sounds of melee. In a darkness of flickering shadows Jack caught a warclub on the blade of his short sword as he kicked to the belly of one attacker. He felt more than saw another attack coming from the side and ducked away only to bound toward his attacker and bury his dagger in the man’s arm. In the confusion, Jack vaguely noted Caer Dumni soldiers dragging the gasping fugitive into the keep. Varth’s rapier was a deadly silver shadow that had marked at least three of the assailants, who broke and fled with their wounds. It had not been a concerted attack, after all. Jack and Varth backed warily into Caer Dumni, and the soldiers sealed the gate. The rescued man was a Pict warrior. He didn’t seem to understand Adunaic as he was barraged with questions. Varth said something incomprehensible, and the man smiled and nodded. "I know a little of the Pict language," Varth admitted at Osiric’s questioning look. "One of my mentors was an old woodsman. Let me see if I can remember well enough to get us some answers." After a few minutes of obviously frustrating conversation, Varth turned to Osiric and explained, "His name is Unkus. He’s a member of a Pict tribe called the Nacaes. He’s on his warrior quest. His attackers were from the Ingaes tribe, which he says is the tribe responsible for the raids on Lady Fiona’s lands. Unkus was spying on the Ingaes tribe’s camp as a way of counting coup. He says that something strange is going on. He overheard them arguing about the attacks and saying something about gold. He was seen as he tried to get closer and had to flee. He’ll be happy to help us against the Ingaes, since there is bad blood between the tribes." Jack was always suspicious of these kinds of coincidences, because they were usually a sign of his ancestors involving him in something dangerous. Osiric decided that the following night he and his companions would try to sneak upon the Ingaes camp to attempt to find out why the Ingaes were attacking Dumni Holding. This plan wasn’t as foolhardy as it might sound; among their number were a mage, a woodsman, an assassin, and of course Jack himself had years of experience as a spy. That only left Osiric, who was a third level adept in Teinne Doigh, so he could move very quietly when he chose. With Unkus as their guide, Osiric’s band should be able to move through the forest without alerting the Ingaes tribesmen. As they neared the Ingaes camp the next morning, Caradoc and Unkus found a trail of perhaps seven people. Too small to be a warband, the group was moving in a direction away from Dumni Holding, so Osiric decided to follow. Caradoc tracked the Ingaes to a camp where the companions were able to work their way close enough to see seven Picts sitting in a circle facing seven Westron warriors. From the colors of their livery, it appeared that the Westrons were sworn to the holder of the lands west of Lady Fiona’s, Lord Harald Scroupe, master of Delwyn Holding. Varth and Jack worked their way closer to the camp to try to hear what was being said. They couldn’t get close enough to make out the entire conversation, but it was clear that some deal had been made when the leader of the Westrons gave the Pict leader a sack. Shortly thereafter, the Picts left the meeting and returned the way they had come. Varth and Jack worked their way back to their companions for a whispered discussion. It seemed likely that the Picts were returning to their camp, so Osiric decided to follow the Westron group instead. Their business with the Picts concluded, they were already breaking camp and heading south. As evening approached, the Westron group made camp again. Once full dark fell, Varth and Jack moved carefully up to spy on the camp. The darkness allowed them to get close enough to recognize by the type and quality of his clothing that the one dressed in Delwyn colors could be none other than the Lord of that demesne, Harald Scroupe. After Scroupe and his men bedded down for the night, Varth and Jack eased back to return this news to Osiric. "What do you think, Jack?" Osiric asked. "I think we should keep following," Jack replied thoughtfully. "They’re not heading home, so we need to know what they are doing in order to be prepared." "Then get some rest, my friends," Osiric commanded quietly. "Tomorrow we stalk again." After another day’s travel, Lord Scroupe’s party arrived at the ruins of a tiny keep, oddly out of place on the top of a small hill in the middle of the Great Northern Reserve. Jack knew this place; it was an old Randgrith holding established immediately after the House’s exile from Dalarda and abandoned a few years later after continual attacks by the Bevyar. Scroupe and his party settled in, apparently waiting for something. About noon the next day, a large party of about fifty came up from the south and entered the ruined keep. Most of them appeared to be mercenaries, but they were led by a nobleman accompanied by two non-descript gentlemen that might be easily overlooked in a crowd. Varth and Jack looked at each other in recognition. They didn’t know who those two nondescript fellows were, but they knew what they were. They were agents, like Varth and Jack. The only question was who they served, because such as they always served someone. "Is there any way to see what’s going on in there?" Osiric asked Goblin. "Yes," Goblin replied. "Give me a moment." He narrowed his eyes and chanted under his breath. A sticky, gelatinous dew began to form on his forehead, accumulating rapidly into a twelve inch globe of mucous that trembled disgustingly in the air. Goblin closed his eyes, and part of the outer surface of the globe rippled back to reveal a transparent eye. The eye detached from Goblin’s forehead to float quivering on the breeze in front of the old mage. It scanned back and forth across the group, and Goblin nodded in satisfaction, his eyes still closed. "Nearly ready," Goblin muttered. Making an arcane gesture, Goblin spoke a few grating words, a large drip of clear mucous fell to the ground from the protoplasmic eyeball, forming a glistening pool with a hollow plop that caused Jack’s stomach to turn over. Another word and gesture and the eyeball slowly faded from sight, bringing relief to Jack’s incipient nausea. A final mystic pass, and the mucousy pool began to glow with a faint light, showing an image of the five companions standing in the forest. The image turned away from them, and began to proceed toward the ruins as Goblin sent his invisible third eye to spy upon those within. They all watched avidly as the invisible eye drifted through the openings in the wall of the ruin, traversing tumbled halls to a large open space in the center, where they saw Lord Scroupe conversing intently with the other nobleman. As the eye took up a vantage point near and just above the conversation, they got the first good look at Scroupe’s visitor. Jack’s breath hissed out in surprise, and Osiric pinned him with a questioning gaze. "I recognize him; Lord Seanan Bevyar," Jack said darkly, with a nod at the image provided by Goblin’s magery. "One of three brothers of the current Lord Bevyar. This Lord Scroupe has some interesting friends." Osiric bent his head with new interest to examine this image of one of his House’s sworn enemies, who was talking with Lord Scroupe over a map that seemed to depict the holdings north of the forest, including Lady Fiona’s Dumni Holding. Goblin’s wizard eye didn’t provide sound, but it was clear that the two noblemen were coming to some agreement. Lord Scroupe handed over another large pouch which by its weight could only contain gold. Seanan Bevyar took his leave, traveling south once again accompanied by the two agents, but leaving the mercenaries with Scroupe. The acquisition of mercenary soldiers by Lord Scroupe was interesting, but not the kind of thing that should have required a clandestine meeting in so dangerous a place. If he could afford it, it made perfect sense for him to hire soldiers to defend his holding from the kinds of Pict attacks which Lady Fiona had been enduring. But when coupled with the evidence of collusion with those same Picts, it put a very different light on things. He could not merely take Lady Fiona’s lands by force; those lands were grants from Freehaven, which definitely frowned on funny business with land grants. But if Scroupe could show that he was better able to manage those lands, to protect them from the Picts, he might be able to convince the Freehaven Council to withdraw those grants from Lady Fiona and confer them onto Scroupe himself, thereby increasing the size of his demesne. It reeked of a shadow game to take from Lady Fiona that which had been in her family for generations. Which explained why Scroupe hadn’t wanted to hire local talent; they might see something they weren’t supposed to. He needed someone with outside allegiance to make sure that nothing was revealed to Freehaven. Osiric’s small band began the return to Caer Dumni much enlightened, but without any clear idea what to do about it. Upon reaching the holding, Osiric, and Caradoc explained what they had seen to Lady Fiona. She refused to believe that Lord Scroupe would act to harm her. She had quite literally grown up with Harald Scroupe, and she wouldn’t accept anything short of conclusive proof, of which they had none. Conversation turned to how they might prove either Lord Scroupe’s guilt or innocence, but before any conclusion could be reached one of Lady Fiona’s squires indicated that visitors had been sighted. From the walls they were able to identify Lord Scroupe’s seneschal, Sir Weldron, with twenty of the new mercenary soldiers that Scroupe had recently acquired. Jack turned to look at his companions, a motley group among which the savage Unkus didn’t seem all that out of place, and that’s when he got an idea. Jack tapped on Varth’s shoulder as he shot a devilish grin at Unkus, which the savage hesitantly returned. "Varth, tell Unkus. Here’s what I want to do..." A few minutes later, Sir Weldron and the mercenaries were admitted into Caer Dumni, and Varth nonchalantly closed the gate behind them. All of them were on horse, though the mercenaries were obviously infantrymen. Sir Weldron swung down from his horse to make greet Lady Fiona. "Lady," Sir Weldron said as he bowed over her hand. "I bring you greetings from Lord Scroupe, who sends his condolences on the recent losses suffered at the hands of the savages." Lady Fiona, her eyes troubled with the suspicions Osiric had sown, bent her head gracefully. "My Lord would also like to offer you the use of some of his fighting men to defend Dumni Holding, if you will accept the gift of their service," Weldron continued. "He would not see you harmed, old friends and neighbors as you are." "That is extremely gracious," Lady Fiona began warily, "but I’m not sure I can accept that offer." Sir Weldron looked startled at Lady Fiona’s deviation from his imagined script. "Why not?" he blurted out. Quickly recovering, he continued "I mean, why ever should you not accept aid from your old friend, freely given and without expectation?" Lady Fiona pinned the seneschal with a sharp stare. Forthright and honest as she was, it was no surprise when she responded, "These gentlemen have brought me a story that I find deeply troubling, regarding apparent collusion between a Holder Lord and a Pict tribe. Would you be so kind as to explain your part in these events?"
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Thursday, May 24, 2007
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Current mood:  sad
Category: Writing and Poetry
In grassy field and common earth, we buried him today;
'neath red-brown clay and burnished steel - a trumpet sang the way.
Between the street and flowered vine, his long last ease begun;
my father passing far from me, his final trial done.
Of all blood kith and kindred, I am the only here;
the others are too wounded, their anger held too dear.
For life has been too troubled, and love has been too meek;
he couldn't give as much of him, as each of them would seek.
The crowd has ceased its rumbling, the air is solemn still;
the honor guard has passed the flag, no rifles grace the hill.
But I am still beside him, my hand upon his bed;
For when I walk away this time, the last will have been said.
Yet I must finally turn about, after just a while;
my bonnie bride regards me, with love within her smile.
And as I go to meet her, we hand in hand will fly;
through the years together, until our time to die.
And in those final hours, when my children weep;
I'll sorrow for their sorrow, but I'll embrace my sleep.
When at last death's passage, passes all away;
I'll run to see my father, and face the dawning day.
 | Currently listening:
Lifesong
By Casting Crowns
Release date: 30 August, 2005 |
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Friday, January 05, 2007
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Current mood: cheerful
Category: Life
I unpack the snacks, put the sodas in the fridge to chill, and hang my coat. Now I'm ready to settle in to some serious game-playing when I look around and realize I'm all alone. My friend's bachelor pad is a small one bedroom apartment, so I'm pretty sure that hide-and-seek was not one of the games we had planned on playing. I go looking for my companions - which turns out to be a matter of stepping from the living room into the bedroom, proving my point that hide-and-seek would have limited entertainment value here - and I find my friend and my son huddled in front of the computer. On the screen is a World of glowing crystal colors and shadow-dark monsters; a World of strange terrors and even stranger heroes; a World of Warcraft. Since I assume that you don't live in a cave or a Luddite community, you'll have heard of this online fantasy role-playing game, where for a mere $20 per month, you can invent yourself as a wizard, rogue, warrior, or priest of renown and vicious character of any of a myriad of races. Once your mythic personality is created, you can interact via the internet with any of the millions of other heroic players of the game. The game is visually gorgeous, and its aficionados spend literally hundreds of hours playing. For those who get hooked, this is clearly the best dollar per hour buy for entertainment – far cheaper than movies or cable TV. I am also told that the game is more intricate than storytelling, more engaging than sports, and more satisfying than sex. To that last I can only suggest that they must be doing it wrong – which come to think of it might explain why they have so much time to play the game. My friend is in the process of explaining the user interface to my son. This user interface features a series of complex heads-up displays that the Air Force might envy, but my son grasps them instantly. There follows a detailed conversation about manna and health, damage and quests. I'd like to say I was lost, but I'm a long-time geek and I started playing Dungeons and Dragons as it was being developed – I even played the precursor to the modern role-playing game, the tabletop war game – so I understood every word. Just a few minutes later, and they were creating my son a character.  This likely fellow is my son, it seems. Note the roguish red eyes, the delicately sculpted nose, and the sophisticated fashion sense – I especially like the contrast of the woven belt with the stained leather tunic, the very definition of avant-garde. You might not invite this gentleman to tea, but you certainly would not want to run into him in a dark alley. While I ponder the ramifications of having a dwarf in the family, my son was off and playing the game on his own, and my friend and I wandered back into the living room to fire up the Game Cube. I had never really played video games before getting a Nintendo Game Cube. I like the social aspect of the traditional role-playing game; by the time the online versions came out, well, I look at a computer 10 hours a day as it is. I've no real desire to see a computer on my own time. My friend, on the other hand, is a life-long video gamer who introduced me to Mario Kart, and I was immediately hooked. It's a silly, cartoon-like racing game, with all the Mario characters as drivers and a variety of courses and strange carts to drive. Oh, and power ups – did I mention the power ups? You have to like a game where you can throw giant spiky turtle shells and balls of fire, use hearts and stars for shields, and use mushrooms for speed. Silly as it is, the gameplay is amazing; fast paced, challenging, and remarkably successful at conjuring the feel of driving at high speed. This is not the game to play before you get into a real car for a drive. Add some "Surfing with the Alien" on the car stereo, and my passengers are pale and sweating by the time I get where I'm going – though I do cut my drive time in half. Of course, I was losing every game – I didn't have the right reflexes. So I got a Game Cube of my own, and now I win considerably more than I lose. (Much to my friend's chagrin – for some reason, we don't play MK nearly as much as we did when he won all the time. Hmm…) But today was not a Mario Kart day; I had something new for us to play. I have small children, so my wife and I are pretty careful about the games we buy. No spurting blood or oozing guts, for example. No eyeballs popping out and rolling around, and no adult themes. Of the five or so games that leaves on the market, it's always a surprise to find one that is fun for adults to play as well as the kids. So my friend started laughing when I broke out the Lego Star Wars II game. Hey, it's Legos, it's Star Wars; what's not to love? The first time you see the little Lego Chewbacca pull the plastic head off a Lego stormtrooper you know the game is going to be good. It turned out to be surprisingly engaging, and several hours later we were beginning to master the ways of the force with our Lego light-sabers. During a necessary break, since none of the video game companies has yet solved the bladder issue, we checked on my son who had advanced a number of levels in Warcraft. It was around this time that it hit me; my 9 year old was playing the adult game, while we two adult professionals were playing the kid's game – and everyone was having a good time. This, I think, is the essence of geekdom – intellectually sophisticated but preserving a child-like sense of play and wonder. Whether IT geeks, science geeks, art geeks, sports geeks – regardless of the arena of practice, to be geek means to employ these two attributes together. Thus I claim the tin shield and aluminum foil sword of geek with pride. Veni, vidi, geeki – "I came, I saw, I geeked". It's all geek to me… (Next: The last installment and explanation of the title)
 | Currently listening:
Have a Nice Day
By Bon Jovi
Release date: 20 September, 2005 |
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Wednesday, December 20, 2006
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Current mood: quixotic
Category: Romance and Relationships
I posted this in response to Kristen Brownell's blog 10 worst places to pick up chicks.
I'll finish the "Absurdity" series later this week.
10 Worst Places to Pick Up Worthwhile Guys:
1. In front of his wife (girlfriend) or your husband(boyfriend), or while they're in the bathroom
Don't laugh; I've seen this happen, and it's a little nauseating to watch. I swear I got hit on more after I got married than before I had a ring.
2. When you're really, really drunk
I'm sorry, it's just not sexy when your eyes are pointing in different directions and drool keeps running down your chin. Also, we can't be sure whether you're saying "I'm into you" or "I'm gonna spew", so we're likely to stand back just in case we guess wrong. Besides which, a decent guy will be happy to make sure you get home safe, but he's not going to take advantage of your diminished capacity.
3. In front of his mother
I don't care if he's sixty; his mom is his mom. To her you aren't good enough for him, and he's not going to want to have to talk to her about it later.
4. At the drug store or doctor's office
It doesn't matter what he's there for; he's going to be self-conscious about his physical imperfections or ailments, regardless of their cause. He'll be embarrassed and just won't feel particularly attractive.
5. At a bar just after you or your friends have crushed his friend
Listen, we all have friends who are flawed. My buddy may be the best, most loyal, most generous friend I have – but after he has a few drinks he's a little too eager, or clumsy, or just not good at reading the signs. After he approaches your friend and gets shot down (particularly if she's mean about it) I'm going to be less receptive when you try to strike up a conversation. I may be embarrassed of him or hurt for him – in either case you're not likely to see me at my best. 6. At a hospital or funeral
In either of these places, his mind is going to be on other things than romance. I've seen women use "comforting him" as a cover for a come-on; if he's not outright oblivious, he's going to be put off by your poor timing and lack of genuine compassion. 7. In line for the restroom
These bodily functions and flirting don't mix. Also, by the time a guy gets in line for a public restroom he's waited about as long as he can wait – he's going be to busy trying to keep from soiling himself, and he doesn't need any extra distractions. 8. The vet's office
Even a pretty girl takes back seat to man's best friend. If my dog is sick, I'm not going to notice you even if you're wearing nothing but pasties and a smile. 9. At the unemployment office
Enough said. 10. At the DMV
You will forever after be associated in his mind with DMV hell. Romance is hard enough without that extra barrier to overcome. He'll be thinking the whole time "Oh crap, she's going to want to see my new driver's license photo", and wondering whether he should just fake being sick and resign himself to driving without a license to avoid that.
 | Currently listening:
Fallen
By Evanescence
Release date: 04 March, 2003 |
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