《Myrl's Kingdom》


 Before

    Walking slowly down the darkened street, the tall, slender man ran his long fingered right hand along the brick wall of the houses and small businesses he passed. The street was practically deserted, which he knew to be odd. For this time of year the people of this city usually kept their stalls and doors open for business until at least until the second bell past sunset. They were industrious people. Generally.


    Lately they had taken a beating, of a sort. They had been taught to fear the dark a few nights past. Now many of these people decided to close their places of business earlier than they were usually want to do.


    But, given time, they would numb themselves to this fear. They would, in weeks to come, stop hugging their children quite as suffocatingly close as they did tonight. Their dreams would roil less, and bring them fewer fanged horrors. His younger brother, Khuan, would appreciate that lessening of dark dreams amongst the people of Rhiada. His Domain of Dreams would be less turbulent than the storm tossed seas that they were now. And Khuan might be less grumpy.


    He did not usually like to travel to these cities. But one of his brothers, his older brother, Bessar, had asked to meet with him at a particular inn.


    After a quick look around, familiarizing himself with the city of Ghlow, to which he had not personally visited in¡­ a very long time, Arluan wended his meandering way toward the Gull¡¯s Nest.


    Bessar had promised to treat him to the best meal he had had in a century, if his little brother would but simply come to Ghlow and hear him out. Bessar was always interested in what industry humanity involved itself in.


    He had, if you heard Bessar tell the story, given humanity the idea of Ships. And many other ideas to go hand in hand with ships, like sails, because oars weren¡¯t fast enough, and grain silos. He claimed to have invented commerce, but Arluan was certain their father also claimed that. And several other gods of Thach claimed to have given humanity the ideas of commerce. Arluan never argued.


    He didn¡¯t see the benefits of being right in a room full of the querulously wrong. His own Domain was rarely trodden upon by others, though, few other gods wanted to claim HIS toys. So he rarely argued with his own kin. Sometimes with gods of other houses. But, rarely.


    Arluan walked through the door, and was affronted on behalf of the tavern keeper and her family to see such an empty common room. Near the long bar behind which the elderly woman had been industriously clean ceramic mugs, stood his older brother.


    Looking at the god, though a god currently dressed as a man, no one would think the two ¡±men¡± were at all related. Bessar tended to tread the lands of Thach as a member of the Ghorma race. Broad, and brawny as any hard working trader or sailor, he looked to the casual observer like a human in his mid third decade. Blue and green hued skin, with an overlaid set of intricate tattoos showing wherever his seafarer''s style of clothing allowed. A bullhorn mustache, waxed up into peaks that showed just enough silver-gray hair to make him look dignified.


    The styles he wore were surely the most modern, Bessar kept pace with humanity and found them constantly fascinating.


    Arluan, on his best days, dressed like a priest¡¯s grandfather. Tall, pale skinned, sometimes mistaken for a human of the Piincar kind, though his skin tended to the silver-white, rather than the pinkish, light tan colors of that line of descent. His clothing was of the highest quality, if two centuries out of date. He wore a black robe with blue accents over a startlingly white tunic and black trousers. Leg wraps in black with the same blue accents that the over robe sported.


    Incongruous, a pair of black sandals, the kind worn in this modern Thach most often by soldiers. A wide white leather scabbard with black accents of cavorting horses rode at his hip, and held a very broad, if short sword.


    Arluan tended to not ¡°keep up.¡± Not with fashions, not with art, and certainly not with politics. His mother had made him promise. It was safer for all involved. It had led to troubles at those various times in the past when he had paid close attention to humanity.


    Turning to see his taller, younger brother enter the inn, Bessar let out a shout of exuberant glee as he set his mug down on the polished wooden bar, and ran to embrace Arluan.


    Looking back at the old woman, ¡°See, Mistress Rahm? I told you he would come! HA! Dinner, if you please! The fried platters!¡±


    Arluan didn¡¯t know what ¡°fried platters¡± were, but he was here more to listen to his older brother than to eat. Eating was just a bonus.


    As the two men sat on benches at a table in the middle of the common room, the elderly woman, Mistress Rahm had stared at Arluan the entire time, a look of mild astonishment on her face as she carefully placed the two drinks down for her guests. She had brought the two brothers large mugs of the locally brewed small beer.


    Arluan knew it was traditionally a weak beer used in places where water was not always clean and safe, but drinking full alcohol beer constantly was a bad idea. But unlike most of the short beers he had tasted in the past, this was full of flavor and as savory as it was sweet. Sitting back as he let the thick ale play over his tongue, he could almost taste the sunlight on the grain that had gone into  making the small beer. He was a little surprised by the revelation that such a thing could be made¡­ well.


    The broad smile on his older brother¡¯s face made him want to punch the grinning buffoon, but their mother wouldn¡¯t approve. He raised an eyebrow in question, and Bessar guffawed in delight.


    ¡°YES!¡± He crowed. ¡°It tastes good! And they make hundreds of barrels of this. They ship this small beer out to taverns and inns up and down the coast. These brewers know their business! And business is wonderful!¡± The blue man paused to take a long drag from his flagon.


    With some grumbled words to someone back in the kitchens, Mistress Rahm reemerged from the recesses of the building carrying a set of large plates, one in each hand, and oddly, a third plate.


    Setting them down, one in front of each man, and then the third off to the side of Bessar, she bowed then to Arluan.


    ¡°My Lord Ashe, I am so honored to receive you in my humble inn. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for such an important gentle, such as yourself.¡± And with that, she scuttled back to the kitchens without further pause, white apron and blue dress vanishing from view as if the woman had been running for her life.


    Arluan stared after the old innkeeper, confused.


    ¡°That was odd!¡± Bessar said, his voice as boisterous as ever. ¡°But, food is on, best we dig in, and I¡¯ll tell you my idea!¡±


    Arluan watched his older brother for a moment, and then, ¡°First, why is there a third plate?¡±


    ¡°A third plate?¡±


    ¡°The third plate, yes.¡±


    ¡°What third plate?¡±


    Pointing, ¡°That third plate, Bes. It¡¯s by your elbow.¡±


    The older god slowly turned his head to the left, and stared at the third plate. Like the first two plates, it was also piled high with fried fish filets, and a selection of both sliced vegetables that had also been fried, and small bowls of pickled vegetables. A small round bun sat on the edge of the third plate, just as it had on each of theirs.


    ¡°FUCK! That plate!¡±


    Sighing, Arluan repeated, "That plate.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you must know¡­¡± and Bessar let his voice trail off.


    ¡°I would like to know, yes. ¡°


    ¡°Look, Ari, if you really must know.¡± Bessar said.


    ¡°¡±Yes?¡±


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    ¡°I¡­¡± and now his older brother was squirming a little in his seat, before almost whispering. ¡°I invited Khuan.¡±


    ¡°You invited Khuan.¡± Arluan was confused. And slightly worried now.


    ¡°I invited Khuan.¡± Bessar confirmed.


    ¡°Khuan.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Bessar looked honestly perplexed now.


    ¡°You brought Khuan into a human city. And now offer him flesh as food.¡± Arluan spoke slowly, in the voice of a younger brother explaining the YOUNGEST brother¡¯s possibly irrational and completely out of proportion reaction to the eldest brother who should have known all of this to begin with.


    ¡°Ooooh¡­ Right. That.¡± The broad shouldered man shrugged. ¡°More for me, I guess.¡± The tattooed god immediately moved the fish from his brother¡¯s plate to his own, replacing the pieces with fried planks of tubers from his plate. After a moment¡¯s thought, he tosses one of the fish planks onto Arluan¡¯s plate.


    Smiling to himself, he took a draught of his beer, and smiled up at his taller brother. ¡°See? No worries! All good!¡±


    It was at that moment that Arluan first bit into a piece of his own fish. It was so much better than anything he had thought it would have been like. It was crunchy and spiced on the outer, flaked layers, yet piping hot, tender, and exceptionally moist on the interior. The peppery spices on the outer layers complimented perfectly by the lemon and herb flavors of the fish filet itself.


    Arluan sat in stunned silence for a solid moment, staring down at his plate of smells and flavors. This was nothing like the foods he would have received in this same city, in this same neighborhood, a scant hundred years gone by.


    He took up his own flagon of small beer, and sipped, savoring the mix of flavors that now mingled and danced across his palette.


    Contemplating the food and drink before him, and wondering what favors his older brother was going to ask him for, Arluan almost missed the change in the air pressure of the common room of the inn. The sound of the door opening was so slight as to go unheard by anyone not  of godly stock.


    The door swung open upon empty night, slowly swinging back to shut out the cold night air, as a shadow moved across the dining room to stand beside Bessar, God of the Blue Moon of that same name, Commerce, Art and Industry.


    Standing over the broad, stocky god, loomed the shadowy presence of an emaciated shadow in approximate human form. Where Arluan was tall, and thin, it was the height and trim physique akin to a human in superb condition and vigorous health. The figure who now stood over his elder brother, however, was only human in shape by happy accident, and more resembled the image of branches silhouetted against moonlight.


    Possibly in the middle of the darkest forest.


    Where you wandered, lost and alone.


    ¡°Khuan, please. I¡¯m so happy you decided to join us. Sit, eat.¡± And Bessar did sound sincere, though he did not look up from his meal, his voice warm and filled with brotherly love.


    The shadow stood a moment longer, before it nodded, and sat beside Bessar. With what looked like a visible effort, Khuan strained, and his form filled in, becoming more human in appearance. He was still incredibly thin, and looked like an Ocre human in his twenties.


    The God of the Forest, Hunting and Magic sat with his two older brothers, and lifted his own mug of beer, sniffing it like a dog might, before he smiled and tipped the ceramic vessel back, taking a huge drink.


    Speaking in a low, quiet, unrushed voice, Khuan asked, ¡°Arluan, how have you been? I have not seen you on this plane in an age. And what are these¡­things?¡± With that last, he poked at some of the fried potatoes on his plate.


    ¡°Little brother, it is good to see you, too. Have you brought Aevana with you this evening?¡± He asked cautiously. His youngest brother''s wife was a bad influence on, well, everyone. But, he thought to make the polite inquiry, nonetheless.


    The god of magic and dark forests shook his head in solemn denial. ¡°No. She is busy with the end of harvest season duties of her followers to the south.¡± Bessar and Arluan both nodded in sympathy for the cyclical duties of all gods with Nature domains.


    ¡°I have been well. I have tried to not allow myself to get drawn into the conflicts that have raged on the other continent these last twenty years, and so I have kept myself apart. And those are fried tubers. Try them with some of the green pickles, they are spicy and sweet.¡± He knew he was speaking in an awkward and stilted manner, but he never knew exactly where he stood where Khuan was concerned. The two gods had never gotten along as well with each other as they had with practically any others.


    The youngest of the moon gods'' face split with joy as he used a potato slice as a spade shoveling a pile of spicy green pickle into his wide lipped mouth.


    The three brothers fell into a companionable silence of those who enjoyed a good meal and friendly familial settings.


    Once plates had been emptied, and Mistress Rahm had cleared the table and refreshed the drinks, again bowing to Arluan and calling him ¡°Lord Ashe,¡± which caused Khuan to snicker, as Bessar cleared his throat to begin.


    ¡°Brothers,¡± He started. ¡°I have a proposal. I want to Lift this Kingdom. Mother has given Her specific Blessing to the new King, and I asked her if we, all three of Us, might force changes here to create an Advance. She acquiesced to my request.¡±


    He smiled broadly, and held out his hands, as if to pantomime a ¡°HUZZAH!¡±


    ¡°I do not want to see the ruin Lifting this realm will cause the other realms of this continent.¡± Khuan said in his quiet rumble.


    With a dismissive wave of his hands, Bessar almost pleaded, ¡°But that¡¯s the beauty of this idea! All of the kingdoms of Thach are now connected, even across the Great Sea, and so the damage will be spread wide, and in so doing, lessened! A large wave on a small pond is disastrous, but a large wave across the entire ocean is just another wave. The only damages we need fear are the direct damages of War.¡±


    Before Arluan could voice an objection, Khuan voiced his own concerns. ¡°The new King is a Talent.¡±


    Bessar and Arluan both looked to their younger sibling, waiting for more. Khuan picked up a fried piece of parsnip he had held back from the plate clearing, and nibbled at it for a moment. Then, ¡°His mentor is a Greater Talent, but I can only see him some rare times, he is not originally of this Plain, and so only visible to me when he treads upon one of my domains.¡±


    He then looked significantly at Arluan, and laughed lightly, mumbling, ¡°...Lord Ashe¡­¡±


    They waited. Again.


    ¡°And the young king has made a Pact with a Power.¡± Bessar nodded, as if knew all of this, but this was definitely news to Arluan.


    ¡°What? For what? And with whom?¡±


    ¡°He had made a Pact with the Heart of the Void. And She will expect payment from him. Soon.¡±


    ¡°What did he bargain with the Heart for?¡± Bessar asked, but with a smile on his face that said he knew exactly what was asked.


    Slowly turning his head to look directly at Arluan, Khuan intoned softly, ¡°He had bargained for certain deaths in exchange for a Pure Vessel;¡± both brothers listening sighed in relief. Humans would bargain for that one thing, over and over again throughout time. It was in their nature.


    ¡°Last week, that bargain was amended. Now, instead of taking his rivals and armies to the grave, he has asked for knowledge, in exchange for that Pure Vessel. And there is such a Vessel in this city.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± Bessar burst out before Arluan could even begin to frame a response. ¡°How has he created such a thing?¡±


    Khuan smiled now, possibly in triumph, or in anger. It was hard to tell the difference some days with the Dark God. ¡°He has not. The two of you, and I, reluctantly, have created that Pure Vessel.¡±


    Both brothers listening were on the verge of protesting. Arluan in anger, Bessar in confusion.


    ¡°My dearest Eldest Brother,¡± Khuan said, directly to Bessar. ¡°You have connected these kingdoms with commerce. And now trade routes stretch across this world and its vast oceans. Travel between these lands does not require Greater Mages now.¡±


    ¡°And In this connected world, A god of both Love and War allowed a conflict to start between two nations, when He could have intervened, and used His other Domain to join the two lands. But, alas, brother, you allowed them to fight. And for that fight to build. And then to continue for decades. When that fight almost killed two lovers, creating a Madman of a husband  and a Wife trapped within what was left of her own mind, the two fled that continent, and came here, to this city. Their journey took years, and over those years, the Madman used a Ritual of the Greater Arts to turn the body of his beloved slowly into a Living Artifact.¡±


    Both gods stared at their youngest brother in shock.


    ¡°Now, that Madman is about to die. Someone has given him the Medallion of Arluan¡¯s Protection.¡± The tall thin god shrugged, though Arluan almost cried out in anger now.


    ¡°Or, he will be driven finally into the last stages of becoming an asologe. And through Asologee, he will either fall either into Death or to become a Horva.¡± The tendency of the magically Talented to overreach their power and ability tended to drive the users mad, kill them outright, or strip their minds from their Talent bodies, creating a Magically durable, if mindless, slave. Both brothers shivered at this revelation.


    ¡°But regardless of what state the Madman ends in, the body of his love is now a Perfect Vessel. And it rests in this city. The Heart of the Void is owed her price. And will claim it for her own.¡±


    Turning to Arluan, ¡°Mother¡¯s Head Priest is trying to protect the King from the Hungry Ones your Medallion is creating. I suggest that you retrieve your toy, while the Kingdom of Rhiada still stands.¡±


    Then to Bessar, ¡°I suggest you aid your seafarers, and your wife¡¯s People¡¯s Champion, the Merrow Captain who has offered so much blood in tribute to your Lady Wife, Goddess of the Seas. She can make it back here by Dawn, with Your help, Bes.¡±


    ¡°And what will you do, God of Magic and the Forest? What will your efforts be leant to tonight?¡± Bessar looked angry. He wasn;t used to his plans being so entirely sidetracked by his siblings.


    ¡°I?¡± And now he smiled at his eldest brother. ¡°I am the God of both Magic and the Forest, as you pointed out. I will bless this Hunt, and the young King, Myrl, who leads it. I will also ensure that the tools he needs will be¡­At hand.¡±


    And now the dark god laughed. In the streets for blocks in every direction, those who slept, had nightmares. Those who were still awake, shivered at the sound of maniacal joy and pain they heard reverberating through the dark, oddly moonless streets.

 Then...

    In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had even given a hint that it might appear, Yarpa moved slowly from bed to bed, checking on the status of those who had suffered worst from the attacks in the palace the week before.


    It had been a point of pride for Yarpa, youngest of her siblings, that she had taken up her grandmother¡¯s trade. She had plenty of older siblings to take up her father¡¯s trade; though ¡°being minor royalty¡± didn¡¯t feel like a trade as much as possibly a way to avoid taking up any real trade, to Yarpa¡¯s thinking. And while her father might, were he willing to talk to her again, that the family¡¯s diversified holdings needed strict and assiduous management.


    At least two of her older brothers would be glad to tell her that same thing, if she had any intentions of asking them. Having heard the best and most complete of those same lectures from her father since she had been little more than a toddler, Yarpa Kaule, Apprentice Doctor with the Royal Leech Hall and under the tutelage of her grandmother, wore her red robes and red shoes with pride.


    One by one, she and her fellow students working the night shift in the Leech Hall moved among the beds twice a night, checking the bandages and looking for signs of infection. The details were important here, and Yarpa was good at the details of her trade.


    She was horrible when confronted by anyone in a position of authority, and suffered from stumbling, stammering, halting speech and a plummeting sense of self worth. Though, when left to her own devices, Yarpa was calm, collected, and competent. At least, that¡¯s how she saw herself. Some others saw her that way, as well.


    She might have been surprised to learn her grandmother, Doctor Veda Kaule, thought of Yarpa as a competent and driven student.


    Most of those who had the Talent lacked the ability to heal Tarpa had. And she had dedicated her life going forward to honing that gift. Most of those called ¡°Talents¡± could just throw around power and shift energy from one place to another. It was flashy, it could be terrifying. She knew her own vaunted grandmother was a minor Talent for whom years of training had earned her the not so impressive ability to light candles, and occasionally shock people into unconsciousness. But, Yarpa had the rare gifts that let her directly influence the body.


    She couldn¡¯t, and would probably never, throw lightning; but she could help people to heal.


    Slightly. It was difficult in the extreme, and much of her lessons had been with the very elderly Master Koburn. One of the first lessons she had been made to learn was that Healing Talents could not simply command a person to health with an effort of Will, and a flexing of their Talent. They had to understand how the body was supposed to fit together to put it to rights correctly. Also, Healing Talents could push past their limits just as easily as any mage, and suffer from asologee, either becoming a mindless, shambling thing, or dying outright as they burnt their mind and body to cinders.


    The course of study, and years of training laid out before her daunted Yarpa occasionally. Some days she would wake up  just wishing she could go back to her family¡¯s estates, and learn bookkeeping and whatever else it was her siblings were learning of the family¡¯s trade.


    Other days, like yesterday, she awoke with singular purpose and the driving hunger to become what her grandmother had told her she COULD someday be.


    A Healing Mage.


    It was a good dream.


    Finally, when she had checked on the condition of the last of the sleeping bodies in the West Wing, she moved on to the East Wing, walking across to the opposite side of the Leech Hall. Those in the East Wing had fewer broken bones, and more lacerations. Most of the patients usually quartered in the South Wing were subjects of disease and congenital conditions, those suffering from afflictions from the time they were born.


    There was, technically, no North Wing. There was a central hall, which housed doctors¡¯ offices, and the administrator¡¯s office. The Central Chamber of the Hall also held the front door, which led into the main corridor of the first sub floor of the Palace. There was a rear door in the West Wing, which led down to the sub level of the kitchens, and with a sharp turn in another branch of the hallway, the rear mews of the palace.


    As she crossed from West to East Wings, Yarpa nodded to two other apprentices attending to their own late night and early morning duties. Faioni looked bright eyed and enthusiastic as she carried a basket filled with fresh bandages and a small pot of numb-bind, so she was probably just within the first hour of her early morning routine. Perkin, however, looked like Yarpa herself felt, as he trudged along with several empty cups on a tray and was most likely in the final hour of his shift, and probably praying to Rhoona for his bed.


    As she wandered to the back, furthest set of beds in the East Wing, Yarpa looked forward to seeing Donchaminar¡­ or Master Sergeant Donchaminar Kammick Nit¡¯Sammish of the Cloven Peaks¡¯ Clan, Medalled Hero of the Y¡¯Sek Campaign, as he was so titled by none other than King Myrl himself. Though only when he needed to make a point, it seemed. Usually the king, and his two closest advisors, just called him Sergeant Donchaminar, or just Sergeant.


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    Yarpa had heard her grandmother call him ¡°Donk¡± to his face just the other day, and she had been scandalized. But the huge Orcish man had just given Granny Veda a tired smile, and held one finger up to his lips to shush the aged Maestra Doctor.


    He might have even chuffed out a small laugh as he exhaled heavily before drifting off to sleep as one of the more potent pain relieving potions took hold of his giant form, but Yarpa didn¡¯t know the chef well enough to be certain. It could have just been an exhausted, stuttered sigh.


    The giant Orcish man was kind.


    That meant a lot to Yarpa. It meant a lot to many of the other Apprentices, too. Not many people were polite to apprentices, unless they wanted something from them. But the few times Yarpa had overseen the rewinding of new bandages on the head of the palace¡¯s kitchens, he had been pleasant, if somber, and very helpful to those of the students and apprentices who worked around him, trying to get the most coverage from bandages made for humans¡­ so, made for someone a quarter of his size. The man was patient and spoke softly to each of them, expressing gratitude.


    It was a rare treat to have such a high ranking patient also be so¡­ kind.


    Standing at the foot of the three beds that had been pushed together to hold the large form of the palace chef, Yarpa used her keen sense of observation and critical thinking skills to come to the simple conclusion that her patient was not, in fact, in his bed.


    ¡­Or¡­ in his three beds... She mentally amended.


    Sighing to herself, Yarpa turned her head slowly to look more closely at the other beds in the East Wing.


    There were eighty-seven other beds in this wing. All of them being currently occupied. The attack on the palace the previous week had taken a huge toll on the staff and the guards and soldiers. Several  visitors to the palace had also fallen. Either to injury, or to that final rest.


    Unconsciously, Yarpa spun out a quick, oft said prayer for the Dead, to the Gods Orranat, Khuan, and to the Goddess, Maighdeann nam Fl¨´raichean. She had not been raised in a particularly religious family, but her time as a student of the Leech Hall had taught her to work to save those she could, and to pray for those who she could not.


    Finally her eyes picked an odd, lumpy formation from the gloom near one of the farthest beds, with a small curtain that separated it from view of most of the other beds in the hall.


    Walking down the aisle to the semi-enclosed bed, she saw now, by the light of her small lantern, that the hulking chef sat on the floor next to the bed of a strange, unresponsive woman that had been brought into the Leech Hall the day of the attack by Master Elbana, and the cavalry officer¡­ Voit? Vollar? Voooogull¡­? Yarpa had to shake herself, as her thoughts were starting to wander in her fatigue.


    The woman had been alive, but suffering malnutrition, starvations, dehydration, and physical abuses of a range of types that had made Yarpa cringe as she had taken notes for her grandmother and the former head of the Hall, Doctor Frake, who had suddenly retired to his estates, way off in the Duchy of South Wall.


    As she approached the shadowy figure of the seated behemoth, he turned his eyes to her, and he waved to her with his massive left hand. His right hand held a small spoon, which looked ridiculous in his enormous hand, and he was slowly feeding the emaciated woman from a tiny bowl of boiled oats.


    The woman¡¯s deeply sunken eyes were open, if barely, and looked worse now, with life behind them then they had earlier in the day when Maestra Alia, the new head of the Hall, had been doing rounds with the students and apprentices and had pulled back the woman¡¯s eyelids to check for reactions.


    There had been none then, which had made the Maestra shake her head. The body breathed, the heart beat, though slowly, but the mind? The soul? Yarpa hadn¡¯t been willing to guess the woman would ever recover.


    But now she was very slowly, sloppily and oddly mechanically, eating porridge.


    ¡°She had been crying.¡± The chef said in his deep, soft voice. Smiling slightly around the tusk-like teeth that jutted up and out from his bottom lip. ¡°The sound woke me up from a nice dream. So I made my way over, and tried to see if there was anything I might do to help. This is the only thing that has worked so far.¡±


    The large left hand took up a rag from his crossed legs that extended under her bed. With great care, he wiped the small dribbles of spilled oats from around her mouth, before he brought another spoon of food forward to her open and waiting mouth.


    Her eyes never left the path of the spoon, following it without moving her head or neck beyond the opening of her mouth in anticipation. Her focus on the food was eerie to Yarpa, but the apprentice immediately took up the woman¡¯s wrist to count her heart beats.


    ¡°Has she said anything to you? Since you began feeding her?¡± She asked.


    ¡°No.¡± His brow furrowed in concern. It reminded Yarpa of the looks her father gave his children when they were ill, or injured. (Or making wildly unlikely life choices.)


    ¡°She was crying. And as I spoke to her. She made burbling noises. I gave her a little water. She looked very surprised when the water hit her tongue. Confused.¡± The large man¡¯s accent spoke to Yarpa of the mountains of the Northwestern region of the Kingdom. But he still spoke slowly, carefully, and softly. It was as though he was trying to not scare a small animal.


    And that was, Yarpa realized, just what he was doing. She wasn¡¯t sure if the ¡°small animal¡± was herself, or the unknown woman he was slowly feeding, however.


    As he continued to feed her, Yarpa checked on the woman¡¯s various sores and injuries. She considered it a minor miracle none of them had festered before she had been brought into the Hall, and now Yarpa Kaule would be damned if she allowed it to happen within these walls.


    Hearing the steps of someone in the Hall behind her approach, she took a gamble.


    ¡°¡±Faoini?¡±


    The steps stopped, and a happy voice answered, questioning. ¡°Yar¡­?¡±


    ¡°Our unnamed guest has awakened. Could you please go tell Doctor Phaidic?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± The high strung young Ghorma woman turned and ran toward the offices in the central Hall, looking for the Doctor who had drawn the night shifts all this month.


    The quick, pattering sound of her red shoes on the polished stones of the floor made a strident counterpoint to the woman¡¯s heartbeat pulsing up Yarpa¡¯s fingers where she held the thin, sticklike wrist.


    This was worrying.

 Mourning

    He moved his left foot under the heavy covers, trying to twine his two feet together for comfort as he usually did on cold mornings. His dreams that night had been slightly disturbing, and he wasn¡¯t certain yet if he was aroused, confused, or just needed to relieve himself. A soldier once had told him, when he had been younger and living at the military Keep at Jibiril Bay, that when demons stalked his sleeps, he should imagine them as lovely women, and attempt to woo them. He understood the drive to do such now in his twenties as he had not when he had been merely ten.


    He fried again to twine his feet together for comfort and warmth.


    On the third attempt, his mind had regained enough cognition for Myrl to realize the futility of this particular set of familiar movements.


    His right foot wasn¡¯t there to cross over with its mate anymore.


    It was just gone. Forever more, never there.


    His leg had been wounded in the attack on the palace, suffering deep cuts that had slashed him down to the bones of his lower leg. Then, after being stitched and wrapped up, when he had insisted upon leading one of the main parties charged with clearing the halls of the monstrous invaders, an infection had set in. Later, his leg had been broken with a deafening, blindingly painful snap and crack. Myrl thought that he and the mad mage had killed one another in those final moments, and had been at least satisfied that he had been able to stop some of the madness infecting the city, and preying upon his people, before his mind let go of consciousness.


    And then he awoke in his bed. Less a foot, and half of the lower section of his right leg. A knife had been driven into his abdomen, and his stomach had needed stitching up as though he were a child¡¯s doll that needed mending. In all the confusion and fury, Myrl hadn¡¯t even remembered receiving the stomach wound.


    That had been three weeks ago now, as he remembered his place in the world and his purpose. Some awakenings to clarity came slower on some mornings than on others.


    Like today.


    Myrl used his left hand to pull the covers from his face, and look at the windows. There was a possibility of gauging the time of day, if he was able by the light entering around the edges of the heavy wooden shutters and the curtains that separated his sleeping quarters from the rest of the Kingdom of Rhiada.


    He had found, to his great detriment, that if he laid in his bed too long, trying to coax sleep back in, he would get a headache bad enough to make him wish he had just slithered out of bed at the moment his eyes had opened. It had been this way since he was very young. Before his parents had been taken from him, even.


    The room itself, he saw, was in a state of almost total darkness, with what little light there was just barely slipping out from under the door that led to his study, and a little more from under the door that led to his sitting room. Otherwise the room was as dark as it could ever get while the fire in his room¡¯s fireplace had the coals thoroughly banked and covered in ashes, awaiting Molly, his room maid, to come by and rouse them back to life as she did every morning just before dawn.


    Looking to his windows, he saw not a scintilla of illumination creeping in about the edges.


    It was well before dawn then, he knew. Three of his larger windows faced to the East, and seeing the sun, Blessings of Rhoona on us all, rise every morning was one of his favorite times of the day.


    He slid the stub of his still tightly wrapped and bandaged right leg to the edge of his bed, and let it peek out from beneath his heavy blankets. The sting in the stitches of his stump let him know that it didn¡¯t enjoy the view at all.


    With a moan, he dug in his left heel, and levered his body sideways from the bed, throwing off the covers, and grabbing the corner of his headboard in one hand and the edge of the frame of his bed in the other. With a heave and a twist, Myrl sat upright on the side of his large bed and let his left leg drop, bumping his heel against the side of the bed before it touched the stone floor.


    His right leg, what was left of it, he kept extended straight out in front of him. Pointing at the far wall like the rounded nose of an exuberant waterdog after a fallen goose.


    With slow and deliberate caution Myrl lowered the stub to point at the floor. He had begun to train himself out of the now pain inducing muscle memory that made him swing both legs out and down, which lately caused his newly shortened leg to bang its still tender nub against the broad, carved black oak boards that made up the side of the bed.


    Not painfully banging his injury against things was becoming a hobby. Or, at the very least, and avid interest. Having achieved it once so far today, he was ready to face the day with this success in hand.


    A slight cramp was forming in the truncated right calf, so he flexed then straightened both of his knees, and closed his eyes, imagining having two complete legs, and flexing ¡°both¡± of his ankles and wiggling all ten of his toes.


    The cramp in his right limb immediately subsided.


    He giggled to himself at the image of his five toes now down in a small stone casket in the family vault flexing and wiggling in the darkness. It was silly, and ridiculous, but letting the thought play out in his mind allowed him to laugh at the absurdity. It kept him from screaming, or crying, so what was a little random giggling from the King compared to that alternative?


    Then, it was his intent to grab the crutch, heave himself up, and then hobble to his bathing room.


    What happened instead, however, involved Myrl reaching for the crutch, missing it, knocking it over, leaning after the beautifully carved, rapidly falling, walking aid as it slid toward the floor at speed.


    His lean took him over the edge, and he twisted in a flailing panic like a fish trying to avoid landing in the boat after it had been hooked. But, like that self same fish, Myrl flopped down ungracefully. Unlike the fish, his own embarrassing landing was to the area next to his bed, pulling one of the top blankets down atop himself in a smothering, slithering mass.


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    ¡°...fuck¡­¡±


    It was mumbled from beneath the blanket, but Myrl felt its inclusion into today¡¯s conversation was a necessary, even an integral, point that had needed to be made.


    He did manage to land mostly on his back, with the shortened right leg extended above his body, a thick serpent¡¯s head poking out of the mound of bed coverings.


    He waited, trying to judge if his antics had made enough noise to make his nurse descend upon him in all of her mighty wrath.


    Not a single hinge creaked as he lay on the floor.


    Not slamming his nub to the stone floor as he fell¡­ Another victory.


    ¡­huzzah¡­ and later today, I will go RIDING! HA! Ha¡­ haha¡­


    He would have another session of forced healing performed upon his person around sunrise. He had wanted to get in a quick bath before that happened. But now, as he threw off the blanket AGAIN, he realized that the water would not be ready.


    His servants had not yet started to fill the bath with heated water.


    He knew he could probably manage to heat the water himself using his Talent, but Ashe would be upset with Myrl for endangering himself by pushing his Talent too hard when he had been injured so badly.


    The stab wound to his abdomen had been a concern for the doctor treating him. The old man was a Talent himself, and had almost killed himself trying to speed the healing of Myrl¡¯s internal injuries.


    It was a field of the Talent and magic that Myrl had been very ignorant about mere weeks ago. And now, Myrl found he was constantly thinking of the loose metaphorical footing most of those Talents who specialized in healing had.


    ¡­loose footing¡­ and now I¡¯ve lost a foot myself¡­ ACK! Never say anything like that out loud, mannerless lout¡­ his mind went regularly to what Ashe, and to some extent Myrl himself, would describe as inappropriate thoughts.


    The elderly healer from the Leech Hall who had been turning his Talents toward the healing of Myrl had explained to the curious young king that, like all other forms of magic bent to use by one¡¯s Talent, the healing done required energy to achieve.


    THe body made and provided the energy to heal itself, but when Talent was used to speed the process, extra energy was required. Myrl¡¯s own body would kill itself trying to prove that amount of energy. So the doctor, Master Niall Phaidic, added his own personal stores of energy to help speed that healing.


    But the body ate that energy at a faster rate than either body could naturally produce, and so Myrl had been fed five and six full meals every day, remained absolutely famished, and had lost almost all of his body fat. The elderly Talent Healer had been left exhausted after every healing session, and had also been fed more food than Myrl thought the old man could possibly consume. And Master Phaidic apparently also slept close to sixteen bells every day on top of that. He and Myrl took many of their meals together now, so as to be certain both men were getting the recommended amounts of food to keep them both going during this process.


    Myrl thought the old fellow was a good guest at meals, didn¡¯t talk too much, and most of his stories were from the perspective of a very kind, very patient old man. And like Myrl, Niall also loved cakes and pies at the end of every meal.


    Sitting up, and then using his reclaimed cane, and the heavy chair that his head had just missed hitting the edge of as he had fallen to pull himself up, Myrl now stood awkwardly, his shortened limb bent at the knee and pointing back behind him. Mylf felt this wasn¡¯t an acceptable pose for a monarch.


    But, he had seen only a very few monarchs since his own Coronation.


    Actually, in person, were he to be honest, he had met no other monarchs since his own Coronation. And now he was judging himself, his injured self, on a pretense of what was and wasn¡¯t ¡°acceptable¡± for a very limited group of people, none of which he had met since his own parents¡¯ deaths when he was a child.


    ¡­I may as well start judging the fashion sense of the Forest Children, I¡¯ve never met any of them, either¡­ at least, not that I¡¯m aware of¡­ They¡¯re better at magic than most humans¡­ especially the use of Glamours¡­so, maybe I have¡­ That made him smile a little. But only a little, as then he set off for his bathing chamber at an awkward and uncertain shambling hobble.


    Sitting in the dimly lit bathing chamber, there was a large basin of fresh water less than an arm¡¯s length to his right, and near to hand on a rack to his left, soap, a selection of sponges and cloths, several scraping strigils, and some small bottles of scented oils.


    This small basin of water would do for now. The large stone tub he might need to enter later in the day after he exhausted himself moving about the court, attempting to be king as though he had two whole legs, and an unscarred stomach.


    Myrl thought he might forgo the oils, many of them were too pungent for his sensitive sense of smell. Not having gotten used to their use when he was in exile, he now found many of the courtiers who visited him here at the palace overwhelming.


    He rarely mentioned it, but sometimes, he knew, it showed on his face, and either Ashe or Elbana would sweep in to politely guide the offender from being in such close proximity to the King. They often did this in the most politically savvy ways possible, and left the offender feeling like it had been their very own idea to sit just a little further from their King as they petitioned him for whatever reason it had been that they had come to court to ask for Myrl¡¯s intercession on their behalf.


    What little Night Clothes he wore, usually just whatever braies he had worn that day, he now stripped off, and tossed to the bin in the corner to be collected and washed. It scandalized his dressing servants that their king wore such ¡°base¡± cotton or linen short underpants to sleep in, rather than the array of fine night clothes they had specially made for him.


    Myrl had thought he would wear such things, too, before he had actually come to live at the palace. But once in the city of Ghlow, he had reverted to the simple process of stripping down to his knickers, and crawling into bed as he had done almost every night while he had been sequestered in Jibiril Keep.


    Concentrating on the water in the basin now, Myrl cleared his mind as the short lifetime of rigorous training had taught him to do. And with a building of his Will, he marshaled his Talent, and sighed out the word ¡°Furnia¡± as he let his Will push his Talent into the water of the basin.


    After a slowly concerted count of thirty, the water began to gently steam in the large stone oval vessel in which it sat. Dipping a washcloth in, Myrl began to soap himself up, and then methodically spong himself off, wringing the dirty, sweat laden soapy water into the empty second basin that sat next to the steaming first basin beside him.


    The hot water felt so good on his fatigued muscles, he now regretted not waiting on the servants to prepare a full bath.


    ¡°You should have waited for your servants. These people depend on you for their lives, and you are being petulantly impatient. Mistress Alia will be very distraught with how you have endangered yourself just to warm some bathing water.¡± The voice, deeply resonant, and as familiar to Myrl as his own came suddenly from the deep shadows by the dirty clothing bin where his braies now rested.


    ¡°FUCK!¡± Myrl noted, not at all startled, his heart not suddenly racing, and Myrl not suddenly wishing he had attempted a use of the bedpan before he had gone to bath.


    ¡°So,¡± his mentor now inquired. ¡°Is the king ready for the day ahead, or shall I call for his bathing assistants?¡±


    With a resigned sigh, Myrl said, ¡°No. Just hand me the robe. I¡¯m sure Master Phaidic will be here with the dawn, as always, and he can almost kill us both trying to heal me further. Then we can have some breakfast.¡±


    He thought a moment, sourly, as Ashe handed him his blue robe. ¡°Well, several breakfasts. All at once. As fast as I can shove it down my gullet as my body demands it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit, Sire.¡±

 Wandering

    The Heart of the Void had slept in peace for eons.


    But all sleep is interrupted.


    Eventually.


    There had been a Promise. And a Call had breached the Great Silence of the Eternal Sleep.


    The Call had been made by One with the Power to make a Bargain, and so They had Awoken.


    The Endless Darkness had opened upon Their eternal Realm, and from one of the infinite solid realms, places where disparate realities were expressed by Beings of Energy, much like Themselves, who had been cruelly limited by the laws of the own realities to acting and existing through the manipulations of physical matter. Enslaved to the madness of cycles of growth and entropy in infinite variety and constantly overlapping repetitions.


    A Being of Energy and Power had breached Their Realm with a Question. But a Price was required. There were rituals and customs to observe with the ambassadors of other planes, those mad beings willing to enter another¡¯s realm.


    Thus it has always been that energy and force must pay for any actions taken by Them for those beings of other realms. Pushing One¡¯s influence beyond the boundaries of Their Realm cost one greatly. Dealing with Realities that engage in the madness of matter and energy coexisting as losses of energy in the Realm could cause entropic decay.


    Negotiations took moments to the Heart.


    The Young Soul made incomplete offers and was rebuffed for their efforts over and over. And the Young Soul returned with new offers, over and over. The concept of Time did not exist for the Heart, though Continuity was a commonality amongst many Realms, the heart of the Void¡¯s realm included.


    Finally an offer had been made for a trade that would bring the Heart more energy than that expected to be used to carry out Their efforts.


    The promise had sparked a Bargain.


    All Bargains must be headed and obeyed. There are penalties and forfeits for both failure and also for bad faith.


    The Life Fluid of the Young Soul had been given, with the use of a Talisman of Power, wielded by that Young Soul, the Soul who strove to reclaim a title and a position on his plane of reality. The Young Soul would be made King among his kind.


    And in that use of the Talisman, allowing the Giving of the Life Fluid, thus the Bargain had been struck. The Deal made, Sealed, and the Promises of Payment agreed upon.


    Amongst those things promised, a Pure Vessel.


    It would act as an anchor on this physical plane, and as an embassy.


    A door eternally open to a realm, a plane, that up to this point in this Continuity had only allowed for the Heart to be contacted by those of this plane, and never from the Heart.


    But, now the Bargain would allow the Heart a Keep in this physical realm.


    The Young Soul, the one who became a King though it had happened outside of the Bargain as it was struck, then made changes to the Bargain. It had gone astray, wandering far outside of the parameters of the Bargain they had made, and sealed with the Life Fluid. But the Young Soul¡¯s alterations were now greatly imbalanced in the favor of the Heart of the Void. The new parameters were agreed to, and the alterations accepted.


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    That single Drop of Fluid had been freely given to seal the Bargain, and once it had breached their eternal Realm, it had coalesced into a crystalline solid. Now the only solid in the entire plane known as the Great Red Void to some few beings of consequence. It floated amongst the eddying power and ethereal substance of the Heart of the Void.


    The Heart had gathered the proper information that had been called for in the parameters of the new Bargain.


    And then the physical realm that the Young Soul inhabited had shifted and shook, vibrations of dissonance amongst the planes. Another set of Souls had attempted to overturn the state of Continuity in that physical plane.


    The Young Soul fought another Soul, a darker, imbalanced, and sundered soul for supremacy. For its very existence.


    The Young Soul had almost ceased.


    The Heart of the Void could not allow that to occur. On that path lay a great imbalance.


    An imbalance of such magnitude would lead to Entropy and Decay.


    They had reached out to the Talisman wielded by the Young Soul, and¡­ pulled. Using the ties of speelwrought obligation and the contract of the Bargain, the Heart pulled, and strained, and made the Young Soul pull the Talisman from its sheath, and drive it into the torso of the Mad One who had been attacking him.


    With that effort, that purposeful expenditure of power, another exchange, an entirely unexpected trade, had been made. A new variation on their Bargain, this time enacted by the Heart.


    There was a feeling of contraction, infinite pressure and pain to a being for whom those had only been concepts for which energy forms trapped in the bonds of solid matter would find themselve subject to. Beings such as Humans¡­ deer¡­ salmon¡­ those ephemeral beings such as called The Children of the Forest, and the Gods of this plane.


    Crushing weight from all quarters, simultaneously tearing the Heart asunder and compressing it into a single point of excruciation. The Heart did not comprehend what had happened. What was happening. It was endless, and only took a moment as those matter based life of this plane would count such things. A part of the Heart was fascinated, while the rest of the consciousness of the Heart screamed in agony and fear.


    Terror.


    What was still happening, as they were dragged from the safety and calm of Their own void, out into this plane of harsh physicality.


    The world opened up all about the Heart as they experienced expansion beyond what they could have anticipated.


    They had begun to drift, free of the pain and terror that had wracked Their mind in these last harrowing moments. It was a sudden and all encompassing surcease.


    The bulk of Their body, such as they had ever had one and could be ascribed to an expanse of sentient energy, floated freely within the walls of the lower chamber of the great stone structure that the Young Soul known as Myrl had called his home. As the tendrils of its form stretched out to sample the confines in which it found itself now.


    As it reached, it attenuated.


    Attenuation could not be supported.


    The Heart felt ¡­ loss.


    Dissolution was near.


    And as quick as this thought was formed in the Heart¡¯s dwindling core, something tugged upon its substance. Starting as a gentle pull, the world around the floating consciousness of the Heart of the Void began to shift and turn itself about that tired and wounded mind. The Heart was being pulled toward a new void.


    It could feel the touch of the Mad One upon this new void that pulled upon the Heart as it twisted and spiraled into a new abyss. With a scream that was only heard by those few beings of this plane who were themselves only tethered to solidity in limited and eldritch ways.


    Darkness covered the Heart as it settled into this new void.


    And surprisingly, They found that They were now not alone. There was another mind, or fragments of one, already in this new void to greet the Heart with resonating terror and wave after wave of anger.


    For the first time in its eons long existence, the Heart of the Void was no longer a singular mind in a void of energy and thought.


    Tentatively, reaching out to this new consciousness, ¡°Hello¡­ ¡°


    This was met with a wracking sob that shuddered through the entire void in which they now both floated.


    ¡°Oh Hoab¡­ what have you done¡­?¡±

 Meeting

    Moving across the dusty courtyard of the run down and almost abandoned tavern, Master Elbana, once upon a long time now gone of the Duchy of Fastel, adjusted her short, thick wool cloak on her shoulders as she contemplated the the ultimate good she was about to set in motion for the kingdom, and how her King would hate her for it. She knew that in the interest of the Kingdom of Rhiada, Myrl would require some lessons that she herself couldn¡¯t teach him.


    She had ridden out from Ghlow two mornings before with two guardsmen and an extra horse. It had been a brisk ride, and she had set a fast pace without ever setting her horses up to a full gallop.


    Elbana needed this task done as quickly as possible, and to be back in Ghlow with all haste. Luckily for her and her companions, they had just needed to make their way to the edge of the duchy of Toodveldte. Once past its border, they had turned north off of the Kingdom Road to follow one of the older, lesser used trade roads that led to a small mining town that had died off when the copper mine that had spawned it had run dry. The small group of fast moving travelers had camped along the way, off the road and out of sight from prying eyes. And now, at almost sunset, she stood at the door to an old tavern she had thought to never see again, as the two guards that had accompanied her on the trip tended to their mounts in the small stable off to the side of the old building.


    The smoke gently curling from the wide mouthed chimney looked light, almost white in color, and that meant that whoever was cooking that day had gotten clean burning wood that had been reasonably seasoned. Probably gathered from the local forest that was even now attempting to reclaim the land that the small town had been built upon. It was more than likely oak, korwood, or ash.


    The sign above the tavern door had faded almost too much to make out the squirrel and the serpent, but the words written in Auld¡¯ach, the dialect still spoken by many here in Toodveldte, could be read by those daring enough to risk the pronunciation.


    ¡°Tyshinsay on Heorak agus on Nahair.¡± She said to herself, wishing she could just stand here in the cold forever rather than risk what she had planned by entering the large wooden building.


    ¡°Sorry, Ma¡¯am?¡± Asked Ihyon, an older guardsman who had the open, honest face of a man who would never stab anyone in the back. Elbana knew the dark skinned Ocre man would prefer to stab them in the face, if he ever had need to do any sort of stabbing. She knew the man had been a sergeant at one time, but when he had gone to the cavalry from the infantry that he had taken the demotion in rank to be able to work with horses and occasionally other mounts, like lisks, the scaled feline mounts, or even hruturi, the giant ram-like creatures. The man just liked dealing with animals more than with people; Elbana could sympathize.


    ¡°It¡¯s the name of the tavern, corporal.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± He said. And waited a moment before asking, ¡°And what does it mean, Master?¡±


    ¡°¡®The Pub of the Squirrel and the Serpent¡¯ would be the closest you could come in Tha.¡± She said. Most people in Rhiada spoke Tha. It was the most common tongue of the continent, and most of its speakers would cite the hard to spell words of Auld¡¯ach, and the tongue twisting pronunciations, as the reason why they all chose Tha. But, it was a much more simple explanation as to why it had been supplanted. Tha had an easier sentence structure than Auld¡¯ach, and made the quick expressions of complex ideas easier on the speaker to relate, and on the listener to understand. It flowed better from one mind to the next.


    She had always loved the cadence and the sounds of Auld''ach, but, as one of her childhood tutors had pointed out, ¡°the purpose of language is to communicate.¡± To be honest, the man had hated Auld¡¯ach, and would have made any excuse to badmouth the tongue, but with that one gem of fluency, he had made his point to the 8 year old child that the Master Elbana Tremarc of Fastel had once been.


    Elbana knew that Auld¡¯ach would always be spoken somewhere in the kingdom, however. Some patriotic sons and daughters of the old ways would never be able to forgive Tha for being easier. And the chance for the bitter elders in small towns to sneer at the follysome ways of the young would always be a privilege to which they held tightly.


    At that moment, Captain Vogel reached the two as they stood before the heavy wooden door to the tavern. He raised the remaining half of his left eyebrow, silently asking why they had not already entered. He then purposefully stared at the heavy wooden door, as if seeking clarity.


    Sighing at the inevitably of her own plans, Elbana pushed open the heavy, iron bound door, and stepped inside of the dark common room of the tavern. Stepping into the darkened room, Elbana was surprised. Mildly but still surprised, at the homey smells of cooking food, and the gentle warmth of the fireplace that lent a gentle golden light to the far side of the room.


    She hadn¡¯t expected the interior to be kept in such fine shape, as judged by the near wreck of the building¡¯s exterior. Vogel, stepping in just behind her, shivered in pleasure as the warmth of the room swept over his chilled form.


    Corporal Ihyon was less impressed with the warmth than he was with the smell of bread and roasting¡­ something¡­ that filled the air of the tavern. ¡°Oh, Master Elbana, you chose a great place to stop! I thought we might be camping cold again tonight, but the smells here make me think the me own ma couldn¡¯t have put out a better spread.¡±


    From the back of the kitchens came a rough, deep voice, ¡°I¡¯ll be out in a moment, if you please! Have a seat by the fire and warm yourselves!¡± There was a scuffling noise, followed by a muted voice mumbling in irritation, and then the sound of several pieces of crockery shifting against each other.


    Removing her helmet as she moved further into the room, Elbana looked at the decor. The exposed beams that made up the structure of the walls had all been heavily carved. The general motif was one of out of control flora. Vines and flowers carved into the heavy wooden beams by deft hands had created a visual riot of villagers and soldiers being overtaken by all forms of vegetation. Many of the little carved people vainly fought for their lives, but were ultimately consumed by the plants. In the carvings, several pieces of armor had been grown through by the invading plant life, and many weapons stood alone amongst fields of grass and flowers.


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    This, she knew, had to be Ol¡¯s work. The old man, much older now than when she had last seen him, had been raised by a tribe of the Children of the Forest on the western side of the Kingdom in the Green Mountains.


    The Children of the Forest were often accused by their nearest human neighbors of stealing children; Elbana knew they would take in any stray, homeless or lost child, but that they would never ¡°steal¡± a child. Children were too precious to the reclusive and long lived people. She had learned from one tribe when she had been in her teens that the women amongst them would bear one child every thirty years during their first two centuries of life. Barring accidents, deaths during childbirths, or raids from humans, they could live up to five centuries, or so she had been told.


    She had originally found the idea of living so long terrifying, but had later come to the realization that people lived as long as they lived in their own communities, as was normal to them. She couldn¡¯t quite imagine living in Ghlow, or any city in Rhiada for another 455 years while all around her, the neighbors she had would barely make it to 90 if they were lucky.


    Turning back to her two companions, she sat at one of the smaller tables near the cheerily glowing fire just as a heavy older man trundled out of the kitchen bearing a large tray on one splayed hand, and held three heavy mugs in the other.


    She raised a questioning eyebrow at her companions, neither of whom admitted to having ordered food and drinks.


    When the old man reached them, he set the large, heavy, steaming mugs of what smelled like mulled cider fortified with wine on the table in front of each person now seated there. Once done, he began to set heaped plates of warm bread, soft butter, and crispy edged vegetables surrounding a large pink filet of roasted fish.


    Not quite bald yet, but the man¡¯s hairline had made a strategic retreat towards the top and back of his head decades before, and now was happy enough to join his well trimmed and combed beard in glowing a subdued silver in the firelight of the large room.


    ¡°Now, then. That sees you three all set. And those horses in the stable will be fed as well, once I get the boy moving. He¡¯s around back right now, scrubbing the bathhouse. Will you be moving on, or do you need rooms for the night?¡± He looked to each of them in turn, trying to see which of them would turn out to be in charge. He looked at each of them without registering any knowledge of who they were.


    ¡°How much for the meals, and the stabling for the horses?¡± She asked, brushing the hair back from her forehead, allowing her to see the long scar she had above her left eye. His eyes tracked her hand¡¯s movement, and gave a slight pause at seeing her scar, but still nothing.


    ¡°Oh, Mistress,¡± Ol said. ¡°I¡¯d say three meals, and the care of three horses for the night¡­?¡± He left that last hanging, waiting for her to confirm their need for lodgings.


    Elbana was now certain the man didn¡¯t recognise her, she was both hurt, and not just a little bit offended.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need two rooms, one for me, and one for my two men. We are here on the King¡¯s business, Ol. Is Red here?¡±


    The old man¡¯s eyes lit up at the mention of Red, and then he looked hard at Elbana once it dawned on him that she knew who both he and Red were.


    ¡°Oh, my stars! Lil Banni!¡± The man¡¯s accent almost made the diminutive into ¡°bunny¡± and Ihyon mouthed ¡°bunny¡± to Vogel in disbelief.


    Standing now, she was eye to eye with the older man, and smiled at him warmly. ¡°It¡¯s Master Elbana now, Ol. And I really need to see Red.¡±


    Ol was on the verge of tears, and laughter as he took in his old trainee, and companion from many campaigns twenty and more years having rudely passed by. ¡°Oh, ¡®Master¡¯ is it hen? Oh, you always were destined for better than the Band of the Red Stones could ever offer! And look at you now!¡±


    He stepped back from her, and looked his former protege up and down. ¡°And that armor you¡¯re wearing isn¡¯t the shiny parade ground stuff, either! Look at you! Oh, we¡¯ve missed you! Red will be so¡­ okay, not glad, but he¡¯ll be sooooo¡­¡± Ol was losing the thread as he tried to imagine what his old captain would actually be at seeing how well their ¡°lil Banni¡± had done.


    ¡±But, he¡¯ll be some few ways, I think, when he sees you!¡± Ol exclaimed. Then the old man paused. ¡°Well, he¡¯s actually seen you already, though I doubt he knew you was, well, YOU. He sits up in the highest room at the top of the inn most evenings, once he¡¯s done with his chorin¡¯ around. And he saw you three ride up, and gave me notice to ready the rooms, and dinner as you were coming down the main road at that mean trot you had put your horses to.¡±


    With that he gave her a serious look. Ol had been the one to teach her to TRULY ride, and to truly appreciate taking care of one¡¯s mount, and he looked down on anyone who would treat a horse poorly.


    Elbana held up her hands in a gesture of innocence and forbearance, making them both smile.


    She had always been amazed that such a kind man as Ol had been the second in command of such a large mercenary squad. And that he had been the training officer for a squad of such moderate, and bloody, success. Even in his aged state, the man¡¯s face radiated nothing so much as calm happiness, and a little joy at having met an old friend.


    Slightly short, and now more portly than the brawny, heavily muscled, thick armed man she remembered, Elbana could see the various scars of past campaigns scrawled across the skin of his forearms, neck, and the portion of his face not covered by his will tended chin strap style beard. She had personally seen the kindly, doting, grandfatherly innkeeper before her efficiently and mercilessly slaughter hundreds of soldiers in the five years she had spent as a part of their troop of hired killers.


    Glancing to the table, she now saw that both Ihyon and Vogel watched their exchange closely and with great interest while the two men ate the food that had been put down in front of them. Ihyon was already close to having cleaned his plate of everything but the two small pieces of what looked like roast beets.


    Looking back to Ol, ¡°I¡¯ve missed you, Sergeant. I have. Why dont you pull up a chair and tell us about your life here?¡±


    The man laughed, and it was filled with joy and warmth that she had always been amazed by. The years had, if anything, made Ol more pleasant than she remembered. Either that, or Elbana might have to reevaluate who she had been spending all of her time with to make this man¡¯s company feel so inviting.


    ¡°I would love to, Banni, but I have to kick the boy out to the stables to feed your horses, and then go up and let Red know you want to see him. Then I¡¯ll be finishing up in the kitchen while you all talk. The two rooms at the top of the stairs, and to the left are yours. They¡¯re both the same, so never you no mind on who goes to which one.¡±


    With that, Ol rustled in his belt pouch, just under his wide, pristine apron, and produced two large, heavy iron keys. Handing them to Elbana, he wandered back to the kitchen, where they could hear him raising his voice to someone. As she sat, she could hear the words ¡°grain¡± and rub them down good and well, boy¡­¡± as she tucked into her own food.


    She tried to eat without letting Vogel and Ihyon know how nervous she now felt. How angry and annoyed she was with herself, and how claustrophobic the walls of this lovely inn loomed above her and folded in around her, making it difficult for Master Elbana to breathe as she reached for her mug of mulled wine.


    But, she was here now, and Red knew she was there. The best thing to do was to just wait for him to come down, and then they might talk.


    Elbana glanced at the door and wondered if it were too late to make a run for it.

 Red Lady

    Master Sergeant Donchaminar Kammick Nit¡¯Sammish of the Cloven Peaks¡¯ Clan, Medalled Hero of the Y¡¯Sek Campaign, Hero of the Ghlow Kitchen Siege, and favorite son of his revered grandmother, was sweating profusely as his knuckles slowly turned and kneaded the massive dough ball on the heavy oaken slab table. It was a regular daily ritual for him now, after the attacks on the palace, to make extra bread every morning.


    The orc chef had thrown himself between his staff and mindless monsters, holding the beasts off until soldiers, and the king himself, could clear out the beasts. But the battle had cost him dearly, and left him bedridden for weeks in the Leech Hall.


    Healing had taken time. Was STILL taking time, he noted to himself as he shoved the dough forward across the floured surface of the table, and then heaved to flip the mass over. He patted the slab, watching carefully how far it rebounded, reclaiming its shape after the last pass of presses and stretches. It was not quite as elastic as he wanted it to be before he returned it to the proofing drawer to rise again.


    With a groan of great personal despair, Donk straightened up, flexed his sore shoulders, and arched his back, eliciting a cascade of joint popping noises more akin to the sounds of a distant avalanche. A yawn escaped from his tusked maw, while he attempted to foil its flight by contorting his face in several different directions before just admitting defeat and allowing it to run riot over his face.


    Widening his eyes and stretching his facial muscles, he gave his head a quick shake and set back to the work of moving the dough back and forth across the thick table. He smiled to himself as he worked. With this last round of dough finally at the correct elasticity, he opened the wide proofing drawer in the cabinet that backed up to one of the immense stoves near where he had been working. In two hours, he would pull them all out, and with the help of a few others of the kitchen staff, punch them down, separate all of the large balls into hundreds of smaller rounds of various sizes, and set them all to baking.


    Breakfast would be served just before first light for the staff, and the few very early risers who resided in the palace. He straightened again and slowly stretched, looking at the play of his muscles under his now heavily scarred green arms. Most of the scar tissue was coming in a bluish tinge. He didn¡¯t mind the blue tones so much. It reminded him of his father and his father¡¯s people. His mother, grandmother, and the majority of her people were all of the green shades of orc tribes that lived in the mountains to the west.


    His father¡¯s tribe had once lived on the rocky coastlines to the far north.


    Stretching and straightening his arms, his elbows cracked, and Donk smiled at the relief of the released tension.


    ¡°My arms hurt less today than they had yesterday, and they will hurt less tomorrow than they do today¡­¡± he mumbled to himself in affirmation as he finally heard the sounds of the first shift of the morning kitchen staff shuffling into the cavernous set of rooms that made of the kitchens of the Royal Palace of the Rhiadian Kingdom in the seaside city of Ghlow.


    Lady Barda and Lady Morag entered together, chatting away in their quick, light, happily birdlike accents that amused Donk almost every day. The two women worked harder than almost anyone else in the kitchens, and never let any amount of work darken their moods. When they weren¡¯t preserving fruits and vegetables, they were making gravies and sauces.


    ¡°My lovely blue twins, please see to this morning¡¯s onion gravy, and red carrot salad!¡± The head chef called to them as they passed. The two bobbed synchronized curtsies to him, tittering to one another. He laughed. Their mood was often infectious.


    Steen, Felmet, Summa, Karl, and Bogner were all old hands, most having followed him from Jibiril Keep with the King, and would arrive later in the day to take over managing the kitchens from him for the lunch and dinner shifts, handling the staff that would be coming in later as his loyal right-hands. Corporal Felmet would also be making up the weekly work roster for Donk''s review, while Bogner and Steen would be handing in detailed inventories of the stocks, staples, and the larder.


    An elderly man then strode in with only a slight hitch to his step due to age, the former master of these kitchens, Mister Cobb, was up and ready to go this morning. ¡°Mister Cobb, if you and the pit boys would see to the sausage and the eggs.¡± Cobb paused, and looked at Donk wide-eyed. A smile came over the old man¡¯s face when he saw that once again he would be asked to not only do demanding work, but that he would be in charge training some of the younger staff, and overseeing their work.


    There was nothing so insulting to a master chef as being given make-work. ¡°We also have two fine boars that have been dressed, but will need some talented butchering. Can you see to that, sir?¡±


    Cobb¡¯s smile brightened even more, as he said, ¡°Oh, aye, Chef. I¡¯m on it! I¡¯ll pull Young Wald in to learn the cuts!¡±


    ¡°HA! Excellent! See to it!¡± Donk knew he was putting a good show on for the staff, but also knew that he would drop like a stone after he pulled the bread loaves from the ovens. The less they worried over his condition, the better they saw to their own duties.


    Many of the early morning staff were rubbing their arms as they wandered in, letting Donk know how cold the predawn morning was outside, and almost to a person they visibly relaxed into the warmth of the kitchen air as they entered. A large kettle of tea was set on a small stove off to the side of the entrance, and many of the staff were taking small mugs of the tea as they entered. Jaina, a granddaughter of one of the older cooks, would be seeing to the refilling of the pot throughout the day, and brewing more tea as needed. She would also see to refilling all of the water pots in the kitchens that stood by each stove.


    Several young boys would be coming in later to refill the woodricks with the split logs for the ovens. They did this chore twice a day, and for several of them, it was their first step to becoming ¡°kitchen staff.¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A matronly woman, Mistress Mollette, silvering red hair tied up in an elaborate bun, was covering her own head with a tight kerchief as she led a very thin woman of indeterminate age through the doors. Most in the kitchens called the woman Izzy. It was the closest she had been able to come in naming herself after she had woken from her injuries in the Leech Hall after the same attacks that had nearly killed Donk. With no other great clues as to who her people might be, or where, she had been taken in by the kitchen staff, and was regularly set to peeling and chopping. Most regarded her as ¡°slow,¡± though Donk thought she was still recovering from the horrors she had survived.


    She no longer resembled the (barely) walking skeleton that had followed Donk back to the kitchens a month ago. Access to abundant solid food had done wonders for the woman. She might never regain a state of vigorous health, but she walked unaided now, and no longer had hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. Izzy was well clothed in a blue dress, and smiled as she entered the room following behind Mistress Mollette. She rarely spoke to anyone outside of Mollette, Donk, and oddly enough, Felmet.


    The elderly corporal was as kind to her as he was to anyone, and she had responded to that kindness by occasionally talking to the slender, older human man with her almost whispered words.


    ¡°Mistress Mollette,¡± he said with feigned dire gravity. ¡°I do hope you will find the dough rising in the proofing drawers acceptable.¡±


    The older human woman, brown eyes twinkling behind her tiny pug nose, cackled like a children¡¯s tale forest spirit. ¡°Oh! Chef, I doubt anyone here could do bread as well as what you have put up this morning, and you well know it.¡±


    Beside her roommate and guardian, Izzy smiled nervously, her wide, catlike eyes glancing left and right to make certain no one was standing too close to her. Izzy had been very nervous of people standing too close to her since her awakening.


    Leaning toward him she asked in a bare whisper of a voice, ¡°Chef, what station would you like me to work with this morning.¡± As always, she spoke slowly, haltingly, and lacked certainty, as though her words were alien things scuttling from her mouth all higgledy-piggledy.


    Leaning close, so he need not raise his voice and make her cringe back in fear as loud noises often made her react, Donchaminar replied as softly as his basso voice would allow, ¡°You and I will be making the porridge this morning, Izzy.¡±


    Her face lit up at his pronouncement. Izzy liked oatmeal. She told him that the scent of it was soothing, and the act of stirring the large cauldrons of slowly heating grain mash made her nostalgic.


    When he asked her ¡°Nostalgic for what, or for when?¡± she never knew how to answer, but after trying to find the memories in her thoughts, just let the thought go, and smiled sadly to herself.


    Just before the noon hour, as he dragged himself into the large set of rooms reserved as the residence of the Palace Head Chef, Donchaminar slumped as he closed the door behind him. Just inside the front door to his chambers, he hung his apron on a hook, and then turned to sit on a large, comfortable bench he had originally bought and positioned specifically to sit on and remove his boots before he entered deeper into his ¡°lair.¡±


    He had dismissed the morning staff as the midday staff had arrived, and set to checking that each job was done and ready for the series of runners and servers that would be delivering and serving. Izzy had looked as tired as he felt now, and he made certain Mistress Mollette had her well in hand as they made their way back tp their own quarters. And then the Chef had spent another two hours meeting with his subordinate cooks. Mostly to check numbers, and confirm menues.


    And now he was finally back "home," such that it was. Lush accomodations by almost anyone''s meter, but some days he missed the mountains. His eyes drooped more, his eyelids leaden, as he sat on the bench.


    Until he had survived the attack on the palace, Donchaminar had never before known he could be as fatigued as he was now. And it was every day, all day, and worse at the end of each day. Though, he might sometimes think it was torturous in the very early hours when he had to be up to begin the day, but by day¡¯s end it was always worse.


    The doctors and Masters of the Leech Hall had told him that the process of healing would take many months considering how badly he had been beaten.


    How near to death he had come.


    But he had trouble believing anything would be better ever again when at the end of every day the massive orc could barely summon the willpower and strength to wash himself and make it all the way to his sleeping chamber and bed.


    Several days, in those first early days back in his own quarters, he had simply fallen asleep in the bath that had been drawn for him by the chamber servants assigned to him as the Palace Chef. Gibbs, and his two daughters, Baince and Caiya, had found him slumber in his bath, the water long gone cold. Waking him, Gibbs himself had been able to coax their massive patron from the bath to the bed in a befuddled haze of pain and fatigue, while the girls had focused on cleaning up the watery mess in the bathing room, rather than on watching, he was certain, a giant naked orc making his fumbling, stumbling walk to his giant bed.


    Luckily, those embarrassing days were now behind him. Though, sitting here on his bench in the entry hall, he thought he could just slip easily into slumber. Pushing himself up, he wandered toward the bath. Knowing that Gibbs and the girls had taken the time to fill the tub, and that he hated the very idea of going to bed filthy, it rankled on his sensibilities, Donchaminar made it to the bathroom, and began to disrobe. Vest removed, and shirt off, he had just untied the waste-knots of his breeches as the light in the small chamber shifted and darkened.


    The usual cheery glow of lamplight was overtaken by a red pall, and even the light of the noonday sun failed to bring any greater illumination through the thick glass windows placed high along one wall of the chamber that backed his large stone bath. Glancing about the room to see if he could decipher the reason for the shift of the light, a multitude of voices spoke softly in chorus from behind Donk, startling him, and making him almost fall to the floor as he spun to face¡­ something.


    Between himself and the door he had just come through moments before, an amorphous form of different and shifting hues of red light hovered.


    Wide eyed, Donchaminar stared at the thing, and slowly asked, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I must find the woman¡­ she who brought blood for blood¡¯s sake, and would see blood come again¡­ the Bargain¡­ ¡°


    Taking a shaking step toward the floating vision, his aches and fatigue now forgotten ¡°What do you want? Who are you looking for?¡±


    The light dimmed, and waivered, and began to fade before the composite of feminine voices said, barely audible, ¡°...the Red Lady¡­ the Lady of Blood...¡±


    Finally as the mirage faded, with less a whisper than a whimper of "...the Bargain..."

 Facades

    Sitting on the Small Throne, in the Small Hall, Myrl watched as the procession of the Lower Royals of the Kingdom slowly assembled. Most entered the hall, and stumbled about in attempts to both find suitable seating, and to acknowledge friends and colleagues who may have arrived before them.


    And then they inevitably noticed Myrl.


    Already sitting the throne.


    Waiting on them all to assemble.


    It was more tedious than he had expected it would be when Lord Ashe proposed the idea to him. The last three sessions of Royal Court had included an extended Royal Procession as the newly recovering king tried to maintain a dignified Walk into the Hall as the Heralds invoked his grand titles, and he slowly made his way into the room on crutches, and a single leg.


    It was¡­ponderous.


    And each time he had done this, he had almost fallen, almost slipped several times, and at least once Myrl had stopped the procession less than half way down the aisle to catch his breath.


    In previous weeks the inexperienced king had discussed with Lord Ashe a variety of alternate plans for arranging his entry into official proceedings.


    Myrl had asked Ashe why he couldn¡¯t simply already be sitting on the throne, and at the appropriate time, the Heralds would begin the court by intoning his titles and accolades. His dour mentor had countered that Myrl could have just used, as he had been offered, a sedan chair carried by a pair of hefty guards.


    Myrl had then asked why he couldn¡¯t ride his horse into Court.


    Ashe had countered with ¡°Sire, why not ride in on one of the cavalry lisks, that would get the landed gentry¡¯s attention. Or we could put you in a chariot behind a pair of hrutari! You would certainly have both their attention and their respect.¡±


    The young king then asked in an exaggerated tone of youthful innocence directed at his teacher, longtime guardian, and friend, ¡°Have we no dragons?¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t be silly, my King,¡± the tall gray skinned man said in a pained voice. ¡°That would break at least five treaties.¡±


    ¡°And the Minor Hall¡¯s walls, I¡¯d bet.¡± This last aside from Myrl had actually been rewarded with a rare smile from Ashe. Very rare, as the man was not known for his jocularity. Though, seeing the small grin on Ashe¡¯s face, Myrl had gone very quiet and still.


    Ashe¡¯s deep voice began saying the word ¡°sire,¡± but it became stretched out and tortuously elongated, before fading to nothing.


    The very air constricted about Myrl in painful chains, he felt frozen in place, his hands resting on the arms of his chair with the weight of an entire ship laden with fear and regret. His racing mind now held prisoner in a body turned to stone, as the world around him spun down to the sad motionlessness of a forgotten spinning top left abandoned and unable to do the one thing it was known for once the child playing with it had lost interest. That was how Myrl suddenly felt, like an abandoned toy. Alone.


    Images of carnage that he had recently seen flashed relentlessly across his thoughts, subjecting him to an unholy array of still life paintings, all done in shades of nightmare reds. Seared into his memory, these scenes of that dark siege chased him through many of his dreams, but now, today, they plagued his waking mind.


    In his peripheral vision, he could see Ashe¡¯s smile now slowly dying, sliding from his face to be replaced by concern, and the taller man, slow as a glacier, leaning in to say something to Myrl. But his ears wouldn¡¯t hear those words, nor any sound in the vicinity, and his mentor was now moving more slowly than Myrl could readily conceive as he moved toward his distressed pupil.


    Summoning his training, Myrl concentrated on his breathing, forcing his torso to expand and then contract. The exhale felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs as the king sought to inhale again, the weight of his own rib cage fighting him as he dragged another slow, ragged breath past his teeth to fill his chest.


    Red flashes of light played about the edges of his visions as he struggled to breathe, and Myrl could feel the emptiness of the Void he had visited encroaching all about him where he sat. The still, strangling air that surrounded the young man pulsed now, and began to throb painfully against his senses as the Void tried to pull at his mind and his body. It was as though a door to a cellar had been thrown open, and he stood on the precipice, prepared to tumble into that yawning blackness. He could feel the heat of his exertions as his attempts to breathe began pushing his abused body beyond its current limits. Sweat beaded skin across his entire form, but it was all moving so slowly, Myrl thought the water pooling up from his own pours might drown him.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Myrl pushed at the muscles of his chest and stomach again with his Will, and felt them begin to move once more.


    And with a loud, painful pop, the world spun back up to its normal speed.


    Myrl let out a hissing gasp as air freely moved into his abused lungs once more.


    ¡°...ire, what is the matter?¡± Lord Ashe sounded concerned.


    Glancing about, Myrl saw that none of the guards, nor any of the nobles nor functionaries that were near had noticed the king¡¯s discomfort.


    With a long practiced hand sign, Myrl signaled to Ashe, ¡°Later.¡±


    With that, Ashe was once again Lord Ashe, the king¡¯s primary advisor and tutor, standing straight as a pine tree beside his king, attentive, but otherwise blank faced in his usual aloof and apathetic competence. He signed back at Myrl with his left hand, ¡°Understood.¡±


    The rest of that day had proceeded as planned, and Myrl had attended to matters of the Kingdom¡¯s needs along with his formal Court.


    Later in the day, when there had been time, Myrl and Ashe had that discussion. What Ashe had actually concluded, Myrl wasn¡¯t quite certain. But the gray man was concerned and demanded his one time ward tell him if this ever occurred again. Myrl had promised that he would, and had kept vigilant.


    Especially in those first few days that followed.


    Two weeks later, and nothing.


    Nothing, nothing, and still nothing.


    Though occasionally, Myrl fancied he could perceive, just at the edges of his sight, an encroaching red light. But he was never certain if that were anything more than his fatigue and possible creeping paranoia.


    And now Myrl once again sat in his formal Court, though this time he had gained the throne before anyone other than his retinue of guards, two heralds, and Ashe were in the Small Hall, waiting for enough of the local and visiting nobles to file in, find their seats, and then he would signal the start of this latest session.


    Later still, as the official business finally wound down, and having just heard the youngest son of the Duke and Duchess of Toodveldt, lord Deachas, address the Court on behalf of his family that they would be holding this years Spring Festival in two months¡¯ time, and that the Duchy would be ¡°Overjoyed to host the King and his Retinue as Our Honored Guests¡­¡±


    Myrl smiled at the young man, though he knew Deachas was older than himself by at least five years, ¡°Please convey Our thanks to your parents, and to the People of the Duchy of Toodveldt. We will consider your kind offer.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t commit to such a journey so readily, with his physical health still in such a state of disarray. But he gestured for the Court¡¯s appreciation for the offer. To either side of Myrl, in harmonious unison, the two heralds lead the audience in a rousing cheer for the young lord, his parents, and their people, to let him know how much he wanted to attend.


    As the heralds then intoned the traditional closing of Court, Myrl saw Lord Ashe by one of the side doors engaged in a serious conversation with a man from the masons guild, and the High Priest, Arne Raoh. Both of those other two men looked very concerned, and Arne, his high forehead glistening with sweat, looked almost enraged as the three men spoke.


    Ashe gestured at the two men, saying something that seemed to calm Arne, if not the mason. But both men stilled somewhat as Lord Ashe continued to speak to them.


    Myrl had been about to attempt a spell to bring their words clearly to his ears, when the assembly erupted in cheers for the King¡¯s, and the Kingdom¡¯s, continued good health and prosperity.


    Myrl smiled at the cheering crowd, nodding his appreciation of them, and their kind thoughts. He then broadly gestured for them to all stand, and for those in attendance to feel free to, at their leisure and in their own time, leave the audience chamber.


    After a milling hour, the crowd had, for the most part, left.


    There were always a few people, mostly nobles, who wanted the King¡¯s Ear for ¡°just a moment, Sire!¡± Though it often became an hours-long affair of Myrl having to work hard to get the flower-voiced nobles to actually come to a point.


    More often than not, that point was ¡°Look at me! I have the King¡¯s Ear! Suck it, Peasants!¡± Myrl hated those conversations, and at Ashe and Arne¡¯s suggestions, had started setting ¡°quests¡± to those most tedious offenders. Count Couluan had recently taken it upon himself to open and operate an orphanage on his land that was feeding, clothing, and teaching the children living there various trades that would set the children up for decent lives once they were old enough to be sent off as apprentices.


    This occurred after the Count himself spent an hour monopolizing the king¡¯s time to talk about his latest set of tailored suits. Master Elbana regularly sent a detachment of young soldiers to inspect the orphanage, and convey the Kingdom¡¯s deepest thanks to the Selfless Count Couluan.


    Oddly enough, Couluan had actually gained quite a bit of good regard from his neighbors these last few months because of his efforts, and his star was climbing in the Royal social circles.


    Myrl had done this with the worst offenders, and now he had a regular set of reports sent to him from around the kingdom of royals taking an interest in the training, health, and education of their people. Several hospitals and public schools had since opened, and when some minor lord or another was shown that doing such projects in their lands would gain them tax breaks, the rush of nobles across the kingdom looking to found schools, hospitals and orphanages astounded Myrl.


    Showing others that doing good was the key to doing well often fell on deaf ears, but showing them that doing good was actively in their interests almost always yielded results.


    Myrl allowed his mind to wander over this for a while as he sat on his throne. A mild smile at his minor successes playing across his face.


    ¡°Sire,¡± Ashe said from beside him. ¡°We have a problem with the clean up and rebuilding efforts on the lower levels.¡±


    Beetling his brows in confusion, Myrl asked, ¡°Oh? Has something gone wrong?¡±


    The stocky High Priest, Arne, stepped forward. ¡°Yes, sire.¡± He said in a soft voice, trying to not be heard beyond their small circle. ¡°It¡¯s apparently about your knife, sire. We seem to have found it.¡±

 Asea

    The sound of the whetstone along her cutlass was soothing.


    And, equally today, irritating.


    Erm, Captain Erminea Galatea Kleinhoff of the Gryphon¡¯s Wings, both wanted to calmly continue the maintenance of her swords, and also wanted to barge into the palace and demand to know why she had not received an invitation to the luncheon that her father and three of his other captains had been invited to attend. THey would be discussing, along with the longer established members of the Rhiadian military leaders, what would be the country¡¯s next steps in dealing with various other neighboring nations.


    This, she knew, was completely irrational. The Gryphon¡¯s Wings, her magnificent ship, was currently half the map away from the Kingdom of Rhiada cutting through wind and sea toward the port city of Garnakichaun. Her father, Admiral Galler Kleinhoff, had sent his daughter off to lead a ¡°trade mission¡± to the island kingdom of Lornholdt, ostensibly to protect the diplomats and traders that currently bobbed along in her wake on a prettily painted old tub of a rolling barquentine.


    Sitting on the fine korwood chair in her cabin, Erm seethed at what she perceived as an insult to her station as her father¡¯s most reliable captain, as well as the woman who had saved the king¡¯s life not too long ago. Stretching out her right leg from the chair and placing the heavy sole of her boot on the edge of her desk, she pushed herself back, tipping the sturdy, heavily carved, dark wood chair back onto its hind legs. A slight flexing of her ankle with each stroke of her arm sending the whetstone along the curved length of her blade, she rocked the chair in short arcs back and forth. It wasn¡¯t a great idea, but it had always been a soothing motion to the petite, dark haired woman on days when the sea was ¡°too calm,¡± and the ship rode too smoothly across the surface of the beautiful salt seas.


    The light coming into her cabin had been playing across the length of her sword as she had worked, but with an hour now invested in the care of her blades, the sun¡¯s place at the ship¡¯s stern had shifted enough that it was illuminating bright blue dyed fabric of her breeches. She slowed her rocking to watch the shadow of her window frames play across the tightly drawn linen that covered her knees. Erm had thought she had built up enough good will with both her father and with King Myrl that she would have been included in such talks. As things now stood, however, she wondered if she had been sent on this run specifically to get her away from the Rhiadian Court for the next two months. Just at the edge of sight outside her window bobbed the vessel which she and her crew had been sent to protect.


    The fat hulled old sow had once been a vessel called the Silver Cloud, or some such nonsense, but after being taken as a prize in a depressingly short and bloodless battle, had been refitted, and her masts rebuilt from a four masted barque to a three masted barque rigged as a brigantine, called a barquentine. With her reduced sails, and her already incredibly wide and round hull, she was now a slow sailing, bobbing, completely unthreatening, wallowing sow of a ship.


    Renamed Dove WIngs, which made Erm grind her teeth just thinking about, the king of Rhiada had sent her back out to sea as a diplomatic ship, and her father had sent Erm and her crew along as the stick to the carrot the waddling tub represented. The king was too cheeky by half, and she was trying to not fly off in anger anytime someone mentioned the similarity of names between the beautiful, sleek, deadly ship she captained, and the plodding hog that she was now escorting.


    As her hands moved automatically along the curved length of her left handed cutlass, she let the slow, grinding melody of the honing stone sing her back to a calm state of mind. Repeating the cycle of movements three more times before she deftly flipped the blade to repeat the process on the other side of the forward edge. Her eyes caught a deep mar on the clamshell shaped steel of the handguard that made up the top two-thirds of the sword¡¯s knuckle bow.


    Erm frowned at the cut in the metal¡¯s surface.


    She knew that using a pretty, pretty sword meant that it would gather scars did nothing to soften her gathering scowl at seeing the blemish. This would be something that she couldn¡¯t just buff out herself, and she might need to take her ¡°lefty¡± to the ship¡¯s armorer, Weapon¡¯s Officer, Lieutenant Adrienne Harper, who was never called ¡°The Harpy¡± to her face by any sailor wanting to keep their nose the same shape for any reasonable time.


    A few hours gone now, she and the other captains of the fleet had been talking with her father through a set of matched scrying bowl Artifacts that used her father¡¯s innate Talent to link all of his ships for communications. It was a magic common to Merrows, like her and her father. And her grandfather, for that matter.


    And using these Artifacts, Admiral Kleinhoff had coordinated one of the most efficient naval forces of Thach. Now, through bargains and political favors offered from a king that had to be younger than Erm herself, Kleinhoff¡¯s fleet was now the teeth of Rhiada¡¯s fleet.


    Myrl¡¯s fleet.


    And her father, who was in port at Ghlow, the capital, was now going to attend a fancy lunch with Myrl to talk about the upcoming plans and assignments concerning naval and trade interests both. And she couldn¡¯t attend.


    Because she was here. Sailing a turtle¡¯s pace to Lornholdt of all the damn places she could be going, to ensure a fat, ugly cork of a ship carrying a load of bean counters and professional arguers, arrived safely to attend trade talks with King Vlamus Graike.


    Vlamus the Mad.


    King Graike Wethair.


    The Merrow King, ship sinker, green be His hair, and long across the waves be His reach.


    And her grandfather who she had not seen since she had been a very small child, when her mother had still been alive.


    Her grandfather, though most of the crew didn¡¯t know this fact. Her father had been disowned by her grandfather. And she herself was not certain as to why that had happened, though Erm knew her father didn¡¯t hate his own father. He just didn¡¯t want to die in his father¡¯s dungeons, either.


    But her grandfather had put a bounty on ¡°That Pirate, Galler!¡± And Vlamus had not been the last king to do so. Since leaving his father¡¯s island kingdom, Galler Ekino Kleinhoff, once called Galler Graikeson, had sailed as a wanted man on every sea and ocean of Thach.


    Now, as Myrl¡¯s Second Admiral and First Admiral of the Diplomatic and Trade Fleet, Admiral Galler was just as feared on the open ocean as he had been before, but he was a part of a nation now. And anyone who sought his salt-crusted old hide would have to declare war with Rhiada to claim any of the bounties other nations may have been offering.


    Galler Kleinhoff had taken a commission with a country. Admiral was no longer just a title he had given himself, as he had made deals to ensure his fleet¡¯s security.


    With the Kingdom of Rhiada.


    With Myrl.


    She thought of that horrible night when she and members of her crew had saved the king. The creatures that had swarmed the palace. The blood.


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    How Myrl had stood nose to nose with a mad wizard, and fought him with a scepter and a belt knife.


    She thought of how he had stabbed at the insane sorcerer even as he had fallen under the mage¡¯s last attack.


    And she thought of all of the lunches she had taken with the young king as he had been convalescing, and trying to heal from his horrific wounds. His dark, curly hair over his high cheekbones, eyes hidden under those unkempt locks like pearls hidden beneath the fronds of kelp in a gentle sea.


    That man can EAT! Her mind added out of nowhere. She laughed, even snorted, at that thought. Many of her meals that she had taken with the young king had been the highest quality she had eaten in a long time, but Myrl just shoveled three servings down his gullet for every spoonful she had consumed.


    Their meals went beyond his appreciation for her crew showing up to help when they had, it was more than that, Erm was certain.


    At every meal, Myrl had acted like she was the most important person with whom he would be meeting. He didn¡¯t fawn over her, and he didn''t attend to her as her crew would. But, he¡­ listened?


    Erm knew it couldn¡¯t have been just that. But, in some ways, some very important ways, it was exactly that. He listened to her. What she said meant something to this man who was not in her command, and not facing her across the bloodsoaked deck of her or his ship. He wasn¡¯t some cocky midshipman in a dockside tavern trying to either impress her with his bravado, nor was he trying to prove he was a ¡°better¡± captain than the renowned Merrowess Captain sitting before him.


    Myrl and Erm had just been two people eating meals together, and talking about nothing and nonsense.


    She shook her head to clear the particular nonsense, and went back to sharpening and re-honing. With that, her mind began to reattach itself to her task list for today. Then that same list for the week. And then finally for the coming month. Reaching toward her desk, she made note of some items her officers would need to attend to in the coming days once they reached Lornholdt.


    Erm then set her cutlass aside, sliding it back into its dark blue scabbard and slowly stood up, stretching out as far as her petite form would allow, finally wiggling her fingers angrily at the ceiling of her cabin. With a quick shrug of her shoulders, and a relief laden popping noise from her spine, her arms dropped back down, and she flexed her neck as she grabbed up her deck coat and strode for the door.


    Using the scrying bowl earlier to talk with her father for their weekly chat made her realize, again, how much work her father did to keep the fleet, HIS fleet, in proper trim, and how much effort beyond just captaining a few ships it was.


    The tasks she had grown up with now had her staying on top of her ship and crew. Once she had gained her own ship, it was running smoothly due to all of her father¡¯s hard wrought training and conditioning of Erm and her siblings. Erminea had started taking other ships, sometimes on her own, and sometimes in coordination with other ships in her father¡¯s fleet, all of those lessons came into play and all of their efforts and choices all those years suddenly looked rational.


    But¡­


    And Erminea knew it was a HUGE but; now that Rhiada and her father had made those deals, the Kleinhoff Fleet was now three quarters of the Rhiadian naval fleet. At one time the coast-hugging fleet of Rhiada, now the sea spanning trade and defensive fleet of the Kingdom of Rhiada. It made a difference. She and her siblings, and her


    Until Myrl came to the throne, the Kingdom of Rhiada had a small navy that mostly just (barely) protected its own coast. Then Myrl, ¡­Hallowed by his name in my father¡¯s ears¡­, had contacted the Admiral about an alliance.


    After months of negotiations by scrying bowls, they had struck a deal. But, there was that big BUT again, Myrl then became king without a coup. Without going to war. Without needing a fleet.


    Her father had almost flown into a rage at the news. Until Lord Ashe had stepped through a shadow on the deck of his flagship, The Kraken¡¯s Tail, that evening. Old Galler had not been expecting that, to say the very least.


    He had brought her father a gift. And held out to the little Admiral a letter from the King offering him a new deal. A special deal. One that he said would give old Galler Kleinhoff everything he and his fleet had ever wanted.


    Erminea¡¯s younger sister, Sonja, Captain of Regret, had speculated that it had been some ridiculous sum of gold. She didn¡¯t know how her sister thought some days, the woman was a competent captain but a horrible daughter. Erm knew her father better than that, though.


    They had gold. The fleet had gems the likes of which some nations didn¡¯t and couldn¡¯t even conceive. They even had an island all their own, with a fort, and a defensible dock. The fleet had taken more treasure than many of the greatest nations of Thach; an amount that many of those same nations would be envious of.


    Her father, however, wanted legitimacy.


    Being exiled by his own father had done something to old Galler. Being hunted by other countries didn¡¯t bother him in the slightest; but when Vlamus had cast him out, Galler had been hurt in a way that went far beyond what a cutlass could do.


    And so¡­


    The fleet now worked for a real kingdom. A true nation. And all they had to do to get regular pay, regular supplies, regular port calls¡­ was to be someone else¡¯s leashed monsters.


    Throwing open her cabin door and it was three steps worth of dark hallway taking her to the main deck.


    Stepping out from under the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck, and the short protruding awning that was the front edge of the quarterdeck, and onto the main deck of her beloved double-barque, the Gryphon¡¯s Wings, the fresh sea wind cooled the sweat from her brow, and brought her the peace that only being asea could bring a real captain. Erm took in a huge lungfull of salt laden air, and smiled to herself. Smiled at the world.


    A smile with teeth.


    This was HER legitimacy.


    All else was bilge.


    Knowing the duty schedule of her officers¡¯ as well as she knew her own hands, she called out as she stood in the glorious sunlight of her beautifully clean deck. ¡°MISTER GERN!¡±


    A return hail from the poop deck, high and behind her called back in the deep whalesong tones of her right hand man. ¡°Captain ON DECK!¡±


    Every crew member who reasonably could, stood to attention and faced their captain.


    ¡°I see Mister Brunson hasn¡¯t run us afoul of reefs. How do we stand?¡± There was a just audible cry of ¡°...oy!¡± in complaint before Gern answered her.


    ¡°Captain, Mister Brunson decided to show up for duty this morning sober as a new mast! We are on course, and steady. Our little friends are three points south and aft. We have reefed sail to one quarter to maintain our speed to match.¡± Gern¡¯s voice became louder as he walked forward toward where she now stood. She could hear his heavy steps as he had come down the flight of steps from the poop deck to the quarter deck, and now he stood behind and above her on the quarter deck, his massive sausages of arms folded behind his back as he stood at attention. ¡°I have advised Mister Brunson that we will be altering course two points south this next hour to lead the duckling through Lonholdt¡¯s reefs, but I plan to remind the doddering old man again in an hour.¡±


    Again, a distant voice of protest sounded. ¡°...I¡¯m RIGHT here, do none of you tern-faced worm eaters hear me¡­?¡±


    Feeling the cold sea air flow into her nose, Erm smiled. Brunson had lost heavily at the weekly officer¡¯s card game two nights before, and now had to suffer the indignities of all of the officers to whom he had lost until he could pay off all of the markers he had thrown about, certain he had a winning hand.


    He had possessed a low pair.


    ¡°MISTER BRUNSON!¡± The captain called out.


    ¡°CAPTAIN!¡± came the immediate reply.


    ¡°ARE YOU KEEPING THE WINGS STEADY?¡±


    ¡°YES, CAPTAIN! I AM! FOR ALL MY LIFE IS WORTH, CAPTAIN!¡± The older Ghorma man responded, his blue skin gone purple after long hours in the sun.


    ¡°GOOD MAN! NOW STOP WHINGING!¡±


    And with that, the entire deck crew broke into mad laughter.


    Gern made his way down the stairs to the main deck to join his captain, and then stepped to her right, to stay out of her sunlight. Gern was not an incredibly tall man for an Ocre, but he was tall enough that he would dwarf his Merrow born captain, and he knew Erm hated being loomed over.


    He had been about to speak when a shout came from the gull¡¯s nest at the top of the starboard forward mast.


    ¡°SERPENT SIGN FOUR POINTS TO NORTH! SERPENT SIGN!!¡± And with that, bells began to ring about the deck of the Gryphon¡¯s Wings as the crew began moving to secure the deck for combat.

 Debts

    Walking slowly up the stairs, Elbana felt the weight of her armor with every step. Olun, Ol, had told her that Harred would be in the single room at the very top of these stairs, and that if she wanted to talk with him before midnight, she would have to go to him.


    Elbana wanted nothing more than to just go to her bed, and get up in the morning, then leave at first light without ever having asked her former captain for help. The idea that the help wasn¡¯t for herself was the only thing that made this course of action even slightly palatable.


    But something being edible didn¡¯t necessarily make it an easy meal.


    Another step, pushing herself against all of the grave force that held people to the face of Thach, which she now was feeling that it may have taken a special interest in her. Another hand-length farther from the ground floor, and then another.


    Soon enough, no matter how long and arduous these last few steps felt, she had reached the third floor landing, and stood in a small squared off room at the very top of the stairs. A small door to her left had a wavering light shimmering under the bottom edge.


    Proof of the presence of a candle, if not an entire lantern.


    Raising her hand to know, she was surprised and halted by a soft voice from the other side of the door.


    ¡°Come in, ¡®Banny.¡± Just that.


    Well, Elbana thought, he knows I¡¯m here. Not just that somebody is here, but me¡­


    Turning the latch, she pushed the door open, and moved past the threshold into a well lit room taking up the majority of the top of the building, with windows facing out toward the only approach to the inn. The large windows had actual glass. Each heavy wooden frame had been broken up into smaller wooden square frames, and each one had a thick pane of clear glass. The overall effect was of the night time world outside the inn being cut up into small images, little framed paintings of the world, broken down into digestible bites, and then displayed on three large walls.


    She stared out at the moonlit world, half glimpsed forms in blues and blacks, grays and greens, all sliding onto and about one another as a light breeze moved the trees, and the small circles of lantern light around the base of the inn and its stable creating isolated ponds of gold in the otherwise darkened night.


    ¡°It can be beautiful if you allow yourself to let go of your need for sunlight.¡±


    The voice shocked Elbana. She swiftly turned to the form of the tall man who had sat in near invisibility in his motionless silence.


    Looking at the man who had helped to shape her into the warrior and officer she had grown into, Elbana could see how the intervening years had worn away at the mountainous man that Harred Clach had once been.


    Wearing a finely made robe of thick fabric, Harred sat in a plainly made wooden chair that entirely lacked the finely detailed and frenzied carvings that marked all of the chairs she had seen down in the common room of the inn. His once broad shoulders now sloped downward with age, and the scarred arms that protruded from the sleeves of his fine woolen robe, while still covered with ropy muscle, were now thin where once they had been as heavy and thick as most other men¡¯s legs.


    Harred¡¯s own legs were crossed at the ankles as they stuck out below his robes.Elbana tried not to stare. Harred¡¯s left foot was encased in a knitted sock that was thicker than it had any need to be. And crossed over the left ankle was a thick, stained wooden leg ending in a fancy bit of carving that mimicked the natural foot that had been lost on a battlefield now forgotten by most some ages well before Elbana herself had been born.


    Hitching her eyes up to his head, his white beard, much like that of Ol¡¯s, was well tended and trimmed, but no longer had even a trace of the coppery red he had once been known for. The tips of his mustache had been twirled up into deceptively happy little peaks. His pate now shone naked in the lantern light, without a trace of stubble that might indicate the ability to still produce any hair, broad, and as smooth as lakewater on a windless day. Wide nose, still the crooked mess she had remembered, and the scars of his right cheek given to him by a bladed gauntlet long ago began to turn and twist slightly as the old man attempted a smile at his once protege.


    This room at the top of the inn, with its wealth of glazed windows making up three of the walls, had become Harred¡¯s living quarters, and like those of his command tents he had lived in during that long ago past life they had once shared, it was a tidy, almost severe, space. It contained a bed, being made up of a camp bed frame resting on what looked like two squat, ironbound chests, a table holding a few books and ledgers, there were three lanterns hanging from the rafters, and as she looked up, several bundles of weapons wrapped an hung in between the rafters. And finally, the chair in which Harred now sat.


    Her eyes finally back onto her former mentor, his scarred face smiling serenely up at her, she asked, ¡°How have you been?¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    He barked out a laugh at this. ¡°It¡¯s been more than a decade, and ¡®How have you been?¡¯ is what springs from your mouth?¡±


    Before she could answer he continued, ¡°I would have thought you might have asked me ¡®Where is the rest of the warband buried?¡¯ or ¡®How did you get back to Rhiada?¡¯ But never would I have thought you would ask me ¡®How have you been?¡¯¡±


    His smile, Elbana saw, didn¡¯t quite make it all the way up to his eyes. And those eyes, a dark hazel, almost brown so common to Ocre men, looked like they had not suffered a smile in years.


    ¡°¡®How have you been?¡¯¡± His Toodveldt accent, a long, lazy drawling that stretched out his vowels in odd ways to her Fastel raised ears. ¡°You act as though we are seeing each other every week, and you¡¯ve just popped by for tea and some biscuits. Are we a pair of old grannies? No. Madam, or should I call you ¡®Master¡¯ now ¡®Banny? I hear you have not just attained that exalted rank, but have even become the deadly right hand of the new king. But now¡­ you have turned up at my doorstep, and you ask me how have I been.¡±


    He looked down at his hands in his lap then, and his breathing noticeably slowed.


    ¡°Master Elbana, I have been retired. I have been a businessman and landowner here in Toodveldt now for a decade. I have been ¡­¡± He paused for a moment, a dinner guest chewing his portion just that much too long. ¡°I have been here, with Olun. And we have been counting the days since we last rode off to war, and regretting the wars we fought, and missing all of those men and women of the warband. I have been still, if nothing else.¡±


    Elbana looked at Harred, once known to the world as Blood Red Harred Clach, Captain of the Red Stone Mercenary Warband. Close to 500 warriors under his command were the best paid, best trained fighting force on the continent. And now he ran an inn in a small town that had died when the copper mine had run dry. He had not retired, so much as he had pulled his horse over to the roadside, and chose a place to wait for death to catch up to him for all of his many misdeeds.


    ¡°Fine, Red. You¡¯re right. It has been too long for me to approach you as an old friend and a neighbor. I¡¯m not here to ask for you to lend me some flour, or to see if I might buy one of your horses to stud one of my mares.¡± Elbana nodded, and stepped over to his small desk, sliding a mug of cold tea from the edge so she could half lean and half sit on its corner.


    He smiled now, honestly, at what he thought looked like her open candor.


    ¡°You owe me a favor. I¡¯m here to collect.¡±


    He glanced down at the chests that held up his bed frame, and raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Nothing like that, Red. I need you to train my student. He¡¯s my prize pupil, and he could become, someday, the best close-in fighter I have ever met. But¡­¡±


    ¡°There is always a ¡®but.¡¯ What ¡®But¡¯ do we celebrate today?¡± Red asked her.


    ¡°He¡¯s been injured.¡±


    ¡°...injured¡­?¡± The old man was looking confused now. ¡°Part of all that noise people talk about happening in the capitol a few months back?¡±


    ¡°He needs someone who has overcome this kind of injury to get him back onto the training yard.¡± She stared hard at her mentor. Not allowing herself to break eye contact.


    ¡°He should retire. Maybe open an inn, if he can afford it, and leave the fighting to others.¡±


    ¡°He cannot just leave everything to open an inn. He has responsibilities. Responsibilities that mean that he needs to have the confidence to lead soldiers, even if he doesn''t fight with them, he still needs to be that kind of leader for his people. He needs to know that he could fight if one more body was needed. And his injury has taken that from him. He¡¯s not handling it well.¡±


    ¡°This is your little cub, isn¡¯t it?¡± Harred asked, a note of doubt in his voice. ¡°This is the boy you left the warband to train?¡±


    She sighed, knowing that he would have figured it out soon enough. But this just felt too soon. And it didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°This inn¡­¡± She said, ¡°That is what you have. You take care of the property. You do a little farming. A little brewing. You trade for most of what you need from the towns up and down the Royal Road. And once in a great while, you have a few guests. Just a few. The town is dried up, and there aren¡¯t even enough people to come to the inn for music and a knee-up. No entertainers have stopped here in a year.¡± The look of simmering anger starting to peak out around the edges of Harred¡¯s calm was telling her how close to outright rage the town¡¯s withering had affected the inn. ¡°This¡­ It¡¯s all you and Ol now have¡­ But,...¡±


    ¡°Oh, there is that elusive ¡®but¡¯ again.¡± He was trying to keep it light.


    ¡°BUT¡­if you promise me a year, I can put a full garrison in the remains of the town.¡± His eyes lit up at that. ¡°Even send some masons, engineers, and wood workers. Build a new keep, and fortify it. Have a crown smithy open in the keep.¡±


    ¡°This town doesn¡¯t need a keep¡­¡±


    ¡°It does if I put a full regiment here as a training post for that new garrison.¡± She was smiling now as he had begun to smile at the idea of the town coming back to life.


    ¡°A full¡­¡±


    ¡°And you will be placed in charge of training them to be better soldiers than any the army of Rhiada has now. Train them as if they are the Red Stone. The town will come back, with a garrison here to train. Ol can run this inn with more regular guests, more regular income. And if you help me now, I will put you in charge of making some of our soldiers better. Give me the year, as the favor you owe me, and I will make certain this town comes back. You will train the soldiers I send you to be more than they could ever be where they are now.¡±


    From around his neck, he pulled a fine black chain. As the chain came out of the front of his robe, Elbana could see the small diamond shape of a chain-cutter arrowhead. The arrowhead itself was as black as the chain that now held it.


    She nodded, and from around her own neck, she pulled a similar chain that also sported a black arrowhead.


    Neither arrowhead sparkled nor glinted in the flickering of the light of the three lanterns in the small room. Each head looked to drink the very light from the air, if they could.


    ¡°And if I cannot train your boy the way he needs?¡± Red asked his one time pupil.


    ¡°Then I will still need you to train the new regiment. Maybe even moreso, if you cannot bring him back to where he needs to be, we might have even more need of a regiment that fights like the Red Stones.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s that bad, is it¡­?¡±

 Knife

    Myrl had learned years ago to exhale as he ¡°Walked Through Shadows¡± with his mentor, and now that lesson was being relearned the hard way.


    Myrl had been told that the crew working on cleaning up the palace¡¯s lower corridors and pathways so that a comprehensive estimate of the repairs needed could be performed had run into a slight snag. The lower hallway where he had confronted and killed the insane wizard some had begun to call the Beast Maker, and Moonkiller, was set to finally be cleared, and stout men with barrows and buckets and brooms and mops had slowly made their way to that isolated hallway.


    While the remains of the beasts, and their victims had been seen to months prior, the damages to the palace that the monsters and their creator had done were only slowly being righted by cleaners and craftsmen. Shifting and removing debris, and accessing damages before getting masons and carpenters in to do those repairs had taken, and was still taking, time.


    Some of this damage had been more structural than aesthetic, and had required more than some members of the cleaning staff putting in some extra hours every day, though they had been doing that as well. The palace had been a mess, and only coming back to itself slowly.


    But now, after almost two months, the place in the bowels of his home where he had almost given up his life to save his people, the workers had made their purposeful way to remove all of the broken stone and tile, and to see to how much work would be needed to make this corridor not only safe to use once again, but also to remove the scars created by both the madman and his monsters.


    And in the middle of all of this, after the times and stone had been shifted. Once broken spear shafts, bent and broken swords, several support beams, and many bits of tattered cloth had been removed, did the workers come across something they couldn¡¯t move.


    It was, lying on that broken stone floor, a small knife. Steel of the curved single edge looked red, though they couldn¡¯t say if that was due to rust or some trick of the torchlight. With a finely crafted, if very plain and unornamented black handle.


    Some of those men who found the knife thought it was a simple belt knife. Some said it was a currying knife that one the guards might have carried to tend to their horse. A few said it looked like a fine palm knife, which just goes to show you that some people will say anything for the chance to stay in a conversation.


    One of the Royal Palace Guards had come over to the small crowd of workers to see what the topic of interest was, when the fine, if odd, little knife was pointed out to the woman she recognised it almost instantly.


    ¡°That¡¯s the king¡¯s belt knife.¡± She said, simply. ¡°It¡¯s not a very kingly belt knife, but our King wears it every day.¡±


    She paused then. ¡°Or, he did wear it every day. He probably wants it back. I¡¯ve heard a rumor from some of the guards who came south with him from Jibiril Keep that he made it himself. Apparently he learned smithcraft. Some of the guards say that he never thought to regain the throne from his uncle, and thought he would need to earn his way in the world.¡±


    Several of the men on the work detail nodded at that, many of them smiled, imagining nothing so wonderful as a member of the royalty being so level headed and right thinking a man as to learn what they all considered a REAL trade. One man remarked, ¡°Huh. A king who knows how to do a day¡¯s work¡­¡±


    The guardswoman smiled at that, and replied, ¡°Yes. He also regularly rode out of Jibiril on scouting missions, I was told, the same as any other soldier would have and did duty shifts with the rest of the garrison guards. His tutor, Lord Ashe,¡± and here several people shuddered at the mention of the King¡¯s wizard¡¯s name. ¡°He expected the Prince to take his duties seriously, and that man doesn¡¯t let anyone shirk their duty. Ever.¡± Nodding heads all around as the work crew all thought about the gray skinned man who had taken up the task of raising their king after his parents had been killed.


    Then, with a smile, she bent and reached for the little black handled knife.


    And stayed in that bent position for a full minute before they all heard her grunt. She resettled her stance, and tried again. And again.


    With a sigh, she stood, and looked to the foreman. He had the good graces to look embarrassed.


    ¡°Oh, ah¡­ yes, sergeant. We¡¯ve all tried, and none of us could move it either. Govi there even tried one of the prybars.¡± To her left, a sturdy worker looked sheepish, a blush creeping onto his face.


    The broad shouldered older man held up a bent bar of steel that may have once been an effective lever. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s wedged into anything, nor can we see any kind of mortar or pitch holding it down to the stone.¡± He took off his cap then, and dropped his gaze apologetically. ¡°On my life, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s keeping it in place here.¡±


    And then the sergeant did what sergeants have done for generations when some aspect of royalty has had a hand in making their lives awkward. They kicked the matter up the chain of command to let someone who makes more coins in a month than her to let them deal with it.


    And so it was that on the very next morning Myrl, on his newest pair of crutches, awkwardly followed Ashe as the taller man made for a deep shadow in the corner of the king¡¯s study. As Ashe stopped, he made a gesture, exactly the kind of gesture that he kept telling his young pupil was completely unnecessary, and the shadow in the corner of the room darkened, and began leaking a deep, icy cold into the room.


    Looking past his mentor to the yawning abyss that awaited, Myrl asked, ¡°Are you sure I¡¯m needed for this? I¡¯m almost certain there are hundreds of other things that need the King¡¯s attention this morning¡­¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Just as Myrl¡¯s hobbling form came within reach, Ashe¡¯s hand found his king¡¯s forearm, and the two men were swallowed by an errant ebony fold in the universe¡¯s metaphorical skirts.


    With a stuttering stumble and a clattering of leather and pitch tipped walking aids, Myrl awkwardly shuffled out from the shadows in the lower level corridor that usually lead to either the kitchens or the stables, depending upon which direction in which one¡¯s steps took them.


    He saw once again the ruined stone hallway where he had faced a wizard suffering asologee, that dreaded condition caused by a Talent reaching far beyond their abilities that could cause, were one lucky, death. The man had a great store of Talent and obvious training when the night of terror had begun, assaulting the walls and roofs of the various parts of the palace with spellwork meant to cause as much fear as it caused damage to the structures of the building itself. And it had. Many of the palace¡¯s guests had been terrorized, and many of those same guests had suffered from falling debris as the spells worked to tear down the palace. As the evening drew on, and the demands of casting all of the spells to create chaos coupled with the strain of working the ancient lunar Artifact, the mage¡¯s mind had broken.


    Elbana and Vogel had found witnesses in the city to verify that the man may have been suffering from dementia. The mad mage may have been suffering from a low level asologee long before the events of that fateful night.


    Wielding an ancient, magical Artifact dedicated to one of the Moon Gods of Thach that had allowed him to create rabid flesh golems from amongst Myrl¡¯s people, and to some extent control the poor flailing souls as they wrought destruction across the city and in the palace. But, and here Ashe had needed to speculate, as the creatures created more of their kind, the strain upon the mage controlling them increased, and possibly even drew upon the wielder¡¯s own Talent to change the victims into more monstrosities, and thus pushing him into a greater state of advanced asologee.


    The condition was every Talents¡¯ nightmare, and Myrl shuddered at the thought as his mind circled around it once again.


    ¡°Sire¡­?¡± Ashe asked, a look of concern on the man¡¯s long, gray-skinned face.


    Myrl shook off the morbid thoughts and smiled at his mentor, ¡°Nothing, my Lord Ashe. Just rabbits hopping across my grave.¡± He said, enjoying the look of irritation on Ashe¡¯s face at the King¡¯s use of such a silly metaphor. Myrl often thought Ashe needed to smile more, but knew some people, like Ashe, just weren¡¯t made for it.


    Stepping fully into the cavernous space, Myrl schooled his features into neutrality as best he could manage, and hoped he didn¡¯t just look as ill as he felt. And with the emotions that surged about Myrl, as read to him by the family Artifact that he had inherited. A ring that read the emotional state of those around him.


    The ring also allowed him to access a few other Artifacts that were all related to his Kingship, and the protection of His People.


    Guards snapped to attention.


    (Mild anxiety pulsed up his arm through the ring from the guards.)


    Members of the craft guilds, and their paid laborers bowed as they noted the king and the gray skinned man chiefly noted, mostly by those of a politic bent, as the king¡¯s Major Domo. Some referred to Lord Ashe as the Chief Minister of the kingdom, others as ¡°the king¡¯s dark shadow.¡±


    But, that just went to show how the average person felt the need to inject drama into their everyday lives.


    (Most of these people throbbed and vibrated with levels of suppressed anxiety and some with outright fear.)


    Glancing about, he couldn¡¯t quite discern where the knife night lay on the floor, as had been reported to him earlier. With a sigh, Myrl hobbled along to the place that looked like the most attention had been paid, yet the least work had been done.


    It wasn¡¯t the ruin of the place that he noticed first, as much as the lingering hints on the air of the blood and viscera that had been thrown about in this dark corridor. Even with the efforts of the palace staff, followed by the crews who had been hired as subcontractors by the masons and carpenters, there was still just that hint in every breath Myrl took that still contained the miasma of madcap biology, filth, and death that would forever highlight and taint Myrl¡¯s memories of that night. The king worked to hide his uncontrolled wince as he inhaled yet another breath of offal feted air. The wrapped nub that was the end of his right leg sent a spike of remembered pain up his remaining leg bones and into his hip as it dangled below him.


    There was a darkness of emotion in the hallway he couldn¡¯t place, though when he concentrated, his ring sent shivers of both mirth and hatred up his arm in asynchronous rhythms that made his joint start to hurt.


    He glanced around, trying to spot the person suffering such a bizarre flux of emotions, but could see nothing of the like on anyone''s face nor in their body language.


    He could almost hear the howling wheezing laughter of the gangling, decaying scarecrow of a man who had brought his madness to Myrl¡¯s world. Another quick glance, but still nothing.


    He could feel Ashe standing beside him, a steadying presence, though he remained oddly unreadable by the Ring Artifact Myrl wore. Sometimes that made Myrl curious, others it was a blessing.


    Several men and women in various capacities of repair and organization converged about the two men as Myrl stared down at the broken stones of the floor where his knife lay. He could hear their voices, but their words may as well have been birdsong in the far distance.


    He just stood as well as his crutches would allow, and looked down at the little ebony handled knife.


    He pushed his left crutch at Ashe, knowing the man would have it well in hand without needed to look, Myrl lowered himself down on his remaining leg, and used the remaining crutch to balance as best he could until he was in an approximation of a crouch over the shining little tool he had made.


    It looked larger now, and Myrl wondered if he remembered its size wrong, or if the light was playing a cruel trick on the crippled man. He reached for the knife, and felt the smooth, oiled, dark wooden handle as his fingertips made contact.


    Darkness blacker and deeper than anything Myrl had ever experienced took hold of him as a howling yowl of screeching hatred ripped through the air about his head, threatening to burst his ears in its fury.


    With a start, he stood in a world suddenly awash with charnel house stench and gibbering cries of pain and misery overlapped with, and mostly hiding light, lilting laughter. Beneath it all, a woman sobbed. She pleaded with him to stop. To let her go. To please, please, please just accept it and let her go.


    Lord Ashe took the crutch from his charge, and intercepted the concerned questions of the leaders of the work crews and the craft guilds who came to assure the king that they knew nothing about the odd circumstances around which his knife had become glued to the floor.


    He was reassuring the doughty man wearing a mason¡¯s apron and holding a chisel that, no, indeed, the king did not hold any of them responsible for this prank, when Myrl reached out to grab the little knife, and after a moment¡¯s resistance, the knife was in his hand.


    And then they all screamed.

 Wagon Ride

    At midday, they had finally gotten the inn¡¯s wagon loaded with supplies and those few personal belongings that Red had required to be brought along on his trip to the capitol city. Harred hadn¡¯t needed much, he said, and liked to travel light. Or, Elbana observed, as light as Harred¡¯s lieutenant, Olun Hacson, would allow the old man to get away with traveling away from home.


    Olun, Ol to those who had served under him, had been insistent that they take along Harred¡¯s bed, as well as his personal weapons, and a large selection of his favorite foods, packed to travel. Their years together leading a mercenary troop had turned Ol into a doting old hen.


    Which also possibly made the man the best kind of person to run an inn, and take care of his best friend, as well as to adopt a few strays and make certain they learned their letters while developing what Ol had always called a ¡°strong wark efik.¡±


    Elbana had known they had a stable boy who was also employed as a cleaner, kitchen boy, and a general errand runner, but she had not known until early this morning that there were two other younger children the men had taken into service at the inn.


    When she had come down stairs just before dawn, she found the two younger children working in the common room. One, a girl of about ten, was polishing a pair of sturdy boots as she sat by the fire. The other, when she looked into the kitchen, was a boy of roughly the same age helping Olun make breakfast and pack large panniers with packets of dried foods, and small jars she assumed were filled with more edibles.


    Hearing her walk in, Ol turned to her and shuffled her back out to the common room with a plate of fried tubers, and bread with a knob of spiced butter melting on it. A large mug of steaming tea was placed in front of her by the boy as she sat. He smiled at her, and gave Elbana a bouncy bow, simply saying ¡°Master!¡± as he turned and ran back to the kitchens.


    She had been halfway through her breakfast when the outraged shout of an enraged Captain Vogel drifted down from upstairs.


    ¡°Where in all the Twelve Hells are my boots?¡±


    Glancing back to the girl by the fireplace, Elbana saw that she was gone, and had taken her tools with her. Two finely polished pairs of cavalry boots, however, sat gleaming in the fire light.


    ¡°They¡¯re down here, Vogel!¡± she called back up. ¡°Cleaned and polished. Let Ihyon know it looks like his boots are down here, too.¡± She thought for a moment, and then glanced down at her own boots, and noticed the road dust of the last few days'' travel was conspicuously absent. The twos of the boots even looked shiny.


    ¡°Huh.¡± And with that, she went back to her tea and fries.


    Later, once the wagon had been loaded, and the wagon team hitched, Elbana and the stable boy, Tully, sat on the front seat of the heavily laden beast as they pulled out of the inn¡¯s stable yard.


    Ol and the twins, who Elbana had learned were named Meggie and Gus, waved them off from where they stood by the front door of the old place. Elbana waved back, feeling as though she may have been stealing from Olun in taking Red away for a while. The men had been inseparable for decades. But, now Red had a task to complete at the palace, and for his cooperation, Elbana had promised to bring life back to this town.


    She had planned to open a new garrison specifically for training anyway, and this just looked too good of an opportunity to pass up. She nodded to herself as Tyshinsay on Heorak agus on Nahair, or The Pub of the Squirrel and the Serpent, slowly disappeared behind her as the road stretched on ahead of her.


    Myrl needed her. That was what mattered.


    They had pulled off the road near sunset that first day, and made a quick camp. Red had slept most of the way in the back of the large covered wagon, having rigged a sort of hammock that kept him swaying above the packed gear and provisions. His slow, metered breathing had been just this side of a snore, and had amused Elbana as she and the boy, Tully, had taken turns driving the wagon.


    Vogel and Ihyon had ridden ahead and behind the wagon as they had trundled down the Royal Road toward Ghlow, taking turns scouting ahead and ranging behind to ensure their safety, But now, as evening had fallen, all five members of their little band now sat around the low crackling fire. Dinner had been a vegetable soup Ol had sent along, and that Red had prepared for them all, while Tully and Ihyon had curried and watered the horses, inspected their hooves, and secured them to a tether hitch.


    Elbana saw that Ihyon was impressed by the boy¡¯s knowledge and care for their equine charges, and the two talked quietly about it all through dinner. Vogel had drawn third watch, and after eating a quick bowl of soup had sloped off to wrap himself in his trail blanket under the shelter of the wagon¡¯s body.


    Sitting near the fire with Red, who was mending a piece of leather tack, Elbana slowly worked a fatty oily mixture of kornut oil and beeswax into her belt and baldric. She liked the smell of the mixture better than just using neatsfoot oil.


    ¡°Olun and I owe you an apology.¡± His voice was low, soft; but Elbana was startled by it, breaking the calm silence in which she had been working as it did. Eyes wide, a brow raised, she stared at the older man, waiting for more.


    Just as she had given up waiting, and had turned back to her work, ¡°King Filian, and Queen Lurgetha for that matter, had approached the Red Stones with too lucrative an offer to refuse¡­¡± He trailed off then with a sigh.


    ¡°No. I do tell a lie there.¡± in the flickering shadows and light of the fire Harred smiled sadly to himself. ¡°They flattered us too greatly for our egos to refuse, I should say. They sent their personal representatives, along with their little prince, Hyrel, along with a pair of chests five times our usual retainer to get the entire Band on those ships and sail to Velpse. To fight in that war they had with Hamuria. Filian provided ships for transport, provisions for two years, and enough gold and the promise of more on our return if we fought for Velpse on Rhiada¡¯s behalf for five years, or until the war had ended, if it ended before that five year term of service.¡±


    She watched him then. Waiting. There were things she wouldn''t ask him, but she desperately wanted to know.


    ¡°You told us that this was a trap, I remember.¡± His voice brought itself up from the whisper it had been to a conversational level, but remained soft. It lacked the aggression and confidence she had remembered from her time as a member of the Red Stones.


    ¡°Red¡­¡± she began, but he cut her off.


    ¡°No. Let me get this out first. We¡­ Ol, Sumner, Happa, Coin, and I all agreed that this would be the easiest contract we had ever been handed. A king was going to pay for a thousand horsemen to sail to another king¡¯s aid. We would be our own detachment, and we would have the liberty to refuse any orders that we judged as not worthy of our efforts. And for five years we would rage across a battlefield that knew very little, if nothing, of our cavalry tactics.¡±


    There was another long pause as he reached for his mug, and slowly drained it. ¡°Bah,¡± he looked sourly into the dark depths of that now empty piece of blue painted ceramic. ¡°Ol sent this tea, didn¡¯t he? He thinks it will help me breathe. Says I have some kind of ill lung humors. I keep telling him I have spirits, not humors.¡±


    And then he split the night with a bold, deep-belly laugh that startled the horses, made Vogel roll over reaching for his sword, instantly awake, and brought up Ihyon and Tully¡¯s heads from where they were talking about shoeing methods. It made Elbana smile, reminding her of riding into a frey at his side, spears and swords in the bright morning sun as a small army they had been paid to clear shat themselves as Harred laughed into the wind and the Red Stones all cried out in joy and rage and fear. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°He was never a king. He was appointed as regent only.¡± She said into the following silence and darkness of the night, remaining loyal to her charge. To her king.


    ¡°He ran the country, and had the purse strings to the treasury. He made it plain enough that the Red Stones could take this commission or we would be asked to leave Rhiada for some other country. He had the reins of an army to make it plain we would only stay if we defeated HIS army. And the retainer he paid¡­ well. He was king enough for the Red Stones.¡±


    On her own side of the fire, Elbana frowned into the face of that hard truth.


    ¡°But the point I was getting to¡­ You said that this was all a trap. And we fell for it. All of us who went. We set aside half of the retainer with the Landsraad Bank. We accepted the generous provisions offered. And we set sail for another war, in another land, to fight for His Holiness, Ignaciatto le Mani Rossi.¡±


    Another pause as the old man got up and went to the back of the wagon to refill his mug with clean water from the barrel. Walking back to the fire, he drained most of the water he had just retrieved.


    ¡°And you cautioned us all. You told us all the ways that this was a bad idea. You and those few you convinced mustered out, took your remaining pay, and left that very night. It broke Olun¡¯s heart to see you go. He didn¡¯t understand. At the time, neither of us did, actually.¡±


    As he sat, he stretched.


    ¡°We tried to tell you how tired most of us were of fighting for other kings. Showing up for paltry paydays to kill other men¡¯s sons. We wanted out of these bloody games as much as anyone else. But, to do that we needed a stake to set ourselves up in new lives. Money to see to it that those of us who wanted to do more than become town guards, or soldier retainers in some londlings household guard, could afford to buy a small place in this world. That was all we wanted.¡±


    Harred¡¯s head slumped down then, as his eyes stared into the embers at the edge of the fire.


    His voice sank again to softer registers, ¡°You were right.¡±


    ¡°Harred¡­¡±


    ¡°Let me finish. I know I¡¯m drawing all of this out.¡± he let out a low, slow chuckle. ¡°When we landed in Velpse, the Velpsean army allowed us to encamp in a large field just off their rocky shore near a city called Itazze. Their mayor came out to meet us, along with a detachment of their ¡®Blessed Suns,¡¯ which is what they call their wizard arm in their military. They then told us how happy they were to receive such a large shipment of fine horses, weapons, and slaves from their ¡®Good friend, King Filian.¡¯ And then the lightning fell on us from out of a clear blue sky.¡±


    He took a final slow drink of his water. ¡°They had decided that their God was on their side in this war, and they just needed enough bodies to throw at their enemies. Whoever their generals were, they were zealots. We never met them. We were just fodder, sent to them to die for their cause by their king¡¯s ¡®honored friend.¡¯ For a year, we were thrown into the worst, stupidest kinds of battles. I saw an entire field of soldiers and slaves cut down by one Hamurian mage. Their generals had no idea how badly outmatched they were.¡±


    Harred was crying now, tears leaking silently down his scarred cheeks. ¡°The Hamurians had a mage, one single man, who would lay devastation across the battlefield like no one I have ever seen. No one I have even heard of. The Velpsean High Command¡­ they just had their Faith. That, or they were letting their insane zealot of a king do whatever he wanted. I don¡¯t know. But, it took those of us who were able to escape almost ten years to make our way back to Rhiada.¡±


    He raised his mug to his lips again, but realized he had already emptied it. ¡°Ten years. And at least 700 Red Stones. Maybe more, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He looked up at her then, meeting Elbana¡¯s gaze. Eye to eye across the distance of a campfire and almost twenty years of betrayal and misery.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Banni. You were right, and we all paid the price for not listening to you. Maybe if we had at least slept on it for a day or three, more of the Red Stones would have mustered out with you. Maybe more of us would be alive now. Not all, but¡­more.¡±


    Silently, not knowing what to say to one another, they worked on their maintenance chores for another hour as the fire crackled on, throwing its cheery orange light onto them both. Eventually Ihyon and Tully finished cleaning, inspecting and fawning over the various horses, and came to the fire to get some sleep before their own second watch would begin.


    As the night darkened further, and the stars eventually came wandering out from wherever they hid during the day, Harred asked Elbana in a clear, calm voice that completely ignored his earlier distraught state.


    ¡°Does he have plans for a queen yet, your boy?¡±


    Elbana laughed lightly at the idea that Myrl was ¡°her boy,¡± but answered as if that image hadn¡¯t been there. ¡°Not yet. He knows he has to choose a queen. Has to make that alliance. He¡¯s just not in any rush to do so. He just took the throne at the end of last Summer, he thinks he has forever to figure these things out.¡±


    ¡°Is he playing around with mistresses, then?¡± Red sounded curious, but that curiosity was tinged with a note of fear.


    ¡°There are some young court ladies who fancy they have a chance. But he¡¯s thinking of alliances, not a local bride. Not a local ¡®Surprise! It¡¯s an unexpected heir¡¯ child, either. And there is a woman I would bet money on, but she also doesn''t have the political heft he needs. She loves her own life too much to notice how much she lights up around him, though. But, no, none that I can tell.¡±


    She replied with a slow shake of her head. ¡°And I can tell a lot. He was spending much of his time swatting away young women like marsh flies. There were dozens, if not more, young and youngish women whose parents were throwing the poor things at him. Even a few older women who thought they might have had a chance with a young man who didn¡¯t know what court life was like, and who might have a need for a mother in his life.¡± She chuckled then at that. There had been more than a few, and they had been less than subtle.


    ¡°And you won''t be supplanted as his ¡®mother,¡¯ eh?¡± Harred was grinning across the fire at her.


    She threw her tin of leather oil at him. ¡°Don¡¯t be crass. I¡¯m no more his mother than Ashe¡­ Lord Ashe is his father. You may as well say that Donk is his father figure as lay that shackle on Lord Ashe¡¯s neck.¡±


    Having snagged the tin of oil out of the air rather than get pelted with the thing, he pulled off the lid and gave it a speculative sniff before smiling and asking, ¡°I don''t know who Donk is, but I¡¯ve heard of this Lord Ashe. Everyone in Rhiada probably has. Is he as formidable as folks make him out to be?¡±


    ¡°Moreso.¡± She said, ¡°I doubt he has the Talent to clear a battlefield like the mage you mentioned earlier. Nothing like it. But he¡¯s a thinker. A planner. And he¡¯s the kind of practical that would sooner see you pushed off a cliff with a dagger in your liver than explain to you why you shouldn¡¯t keep doing whatever it is he wants you to stop doing.¡±


    ¡°A man like our Olun, then?¡± Harred asked.


    ¡°But with fewer smiles, yes.¡±


    ¡°I can live without smiles.¡±


    ¡°If he decides you are making the world worse for Myrl, he won¡¯t hesitate to fix the problem.¡± Elbana said, never breaking eye contact with her one-time mentor.


    ¡°Hrrrm. Is he going to make my training of your boy difficult?¡± Red looked concerned, his smoothly shaven pate gleaming orange in the firelight.


    ¡°No. We each have our own realms. Our own domains. We don¡¯t interfere with each other. I teach Myrl to be a soldier. To fight. To take a punch and to punch back. Lord Ashe is his classroom tutor, and his mentor where politics are concerned. Lord Ashe is interested in keeping Myrl on the throne, and keeping the kingdom fully intact.¡±


    He smiled at this, though Elbana withheld the fact that Ashe had guided Myrl¡¯s Talent based skills and studies.


    ¡°I''ve heard he has the Talent, like his parents did.¡±


    ¡­FUCK¡­! She kept her face neutral though she was raging inside. ¡­Did EVERYONE know Myrl was a Talent now¡­?


    ¡°He has.¡± She said simply.


    Harred considered, leaning back and kicking his fake foot up to cross his ankles. ¡°And is he likely to lose his temper and strike me dead with lightning or some such?¡±


    ¡°Well, you are very annoying¡­¡± Elbana tried to lighten the mood.


    ¡°...Banni¡­¡±


    ¡°No. He is the most disciplined Talent I have ever met.¡±

 Pain

    It was the most pain he had ever felt in his very short life.


    In both volume and intensity, this searing, burning, slicing of his tendons, crushing of his bones, peeling of his skin had eclipsed anything Myrl had ever experienced.


    It was exactly this pain that made it clear to Myrl that his life had hardly begun; which was so startling to the young king. On the surface of his thoughts, Myrl often considered of himself as having lived more than maybe he had been due. But now being confronted with this experience of abject agony, were Myrl able to voice his opinion on the matter, he would have to admit that a scant twenty-three years was a trifling number.


    Waves of searing pain washed back and forth through his skull, making his sinuses crackle like insects underfoot. It was a jarring feeling of blades inside of his eyes that had him thrashhing his head back and forth. The pressure inside of his head rose and fell like the tides, making him nauseous.


    There were loose stones under the sole of his left boot. The scree shifted, moving beneath his foot, and the end of the crutch under his right arm sank suddenly, making Myrl lose his balance. As he felt himself fall Myrl¡¯s right eye opened momentarily, catching fleeting glimpse of a courtyard he didn¡¯t recognise before the world spun away into absolute blackness, and his burning limbs were bathed in the icy grip of far away glaciers for a few moments as the world again swam into focus.


    He lay on his side on the edge of a sandy beach, the dark gray-green curl of incoming water rolling toward his face where it sat in the pebble strewn sand. His one opened eye half in and half out of the salty water that retreated before the incoming swell. Closing his eye again, he felt the pressure in his head swell, and pop with a brief relief and the feeling of water around him dissappeared before cold clutched at his bones again.


    Myrl was certain his skin was being flayed away from the muscle and to the bone beneath. Each breath he took lent itself toward continuing a scream which he could not stop. His body was accepting of that state somehow and worked to take in more air, forcing ragged screeches from his tortured throat as it attempted both sharp intake of breath and rapid yowling exhale simultaneously.


    Without warning his head and torso were slapped by a great hand of cold water, salt burning his throat and the tender flesh inside his nose.


    The fire-like ripping sensation crawled across his body, registering itself at each nerve and joint as it clawed and scraped its way from his spasming right hand up his arm, and then wrapped the entirety of his form in agony.


    With a marshaling of his scattered Will, he reached as far up into the sky as his Talent would allow to draw down around himself the great weight and force of the very air that swirled between where he crouched up into the rarest of climbs, Myrl centered himself and let loose a full atmosphere of force about himself in all directions, thinking that what or whoever it was that was trying to skin him alive was so close to him as to be shoved away by his flexing of his Talent.


    Next to him! He could feel the resistance of¡­ something as the force he had pulled to and then shoved from himself encountered unmoving opposition.


    Darkness again tumbled him now limp form, freezing his now wet body. Tendrils of frost and thin ice crackled as it crawled up and over him, though his clothing and around it all.


    Light. Flames on his skin.


    Darkness and the return of those hated, frozen fingers that clutched and cawed at his body.


    The feeling of landing on his back startled Myrl, and there was a series of screams followed by the sounds of something breaking. Shattering sounds all around him.


    Several somethings¡­ plates?


    A voice. Yelling in sudden anger and surprise as Myrl stopped a fall he hadn¡¯t been aware he was in the middle of with a jarring impact.


    Wielding knives and torches as his skin was surely being ripped from his body. He tried to scream again. Or still, he wasn¡¯t certain. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    A sharp cracking noise in his ear sounded, along with a deep voice shouting ¡°Fucking what the Seven Hells is this Whaleshit?¡±


    Something was wrenched painfully from the grip of his right hand, and the world popped back into focus.


    At least briefly.


    There was a garbled murmuring.


    Blinking up into the light of what had to be the light of the midmorning sun, Myrl groaned. ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°I said, boy, what do you think you¡¯re doing with this thing?¡± The voice was sharp, and had a thick Kjolta accent. He had met many of the Ghorma traders over the years who sailed the whole world over, looking for markets for their furs, preserved fish and bottled fats and oils.


    He could just see, through slitted eyes, the outline of a bald head. The sunlight behind the head rendered most of what he could see into a smooth topped silhouette, but if pressed, he thought it was a bearded Ghorma man with a bristled curly beard, over a broad chest and set of shoulders. But he was still reeling from the punishment his body had taken at the hands of whoever had attacked him.


    Moment by moment, details of his surroundings slowly hove into focus. The air which had so recently been tearing stips from the lining of his throat, now calmly moved in and out of his grateful lungs as his breathing steadied. Myrl ran his hands slowly over his body, looking for what had to be the worst of his injuries. Torn flesh. Slashes, and tears. He had been surprised at the complete lack of broken fingers and as he explored, he was amazed to find that while he was soaked to the skin in salt water, his body was only touched by the memories of the pains he had thought to have been subjected to.


    Moving his completely unbroken neck, Myrl could see that he now lay beside a small blacksmith¡¯s work area in the middle of a seaside shipyard. It was still midmorning.


    The man standing over him had a broad nose, a wide mustache waxed into two great curving points, and a collection of the green and red tattoos of an older, very experienced and well traveled Ghorma man. His head was either naturally bald, or just shaven so finely that his blueish pate shone and glinted in the morning sun. The man had taken the knife from Myrl, and placed it in his small anvil before turning back to Myrl and offering a broad and heavily calloused hand.


    Myrl reached up to the man, and was brought up to a standing position more quickly than he anticipated, his head swimming with the swift movement.


    There was an awkward moment of Myrl staring, forgetting something, before he began to tip to his right.


    ¡­Ah, yes, dingus¡­no right foot¡­ right¡­ he thought, as he briefly scrabbled at the edge of the small anvil with one hand and the Ghorma man¡¯s shoulder with his other. The man laughed, and reached out, holding the young king up with unmovable hands placed to either side of Myrl¡¯s ribs. Myrl exhaled as air rushed from his lungs. The man¡¯s grip was close to viselike.


    With an exclamation of surprise, the man reached down past Myrl to the sand and brought up his remaining crutch. Handing it to him, the man said, ¡°You popped out of nowhere, and rolled around for a bit looking like you were in pain.¡±


    And now the man grabbed Myrl¡¯s face in both of his large hands, bringing him face to face with the concerned looking smith.


    ¡°Are you well enough now?¡± He now thrust Myrl out to arms¡¯ length, and looked him up and down. ¡°You look okay now. But you also look wet. Did you have another crutch? You didn¡¯t pop to here from wherever you were with a second that I saw, but you don¡¯t look too steady on just the one.¡± He looked Myrl up and down again, and his broad brows beetled over his narrowing eyes.


    And now he turned to his left, and shouted at some men who had stopped planing long, narrow planks of wood to watch whatever was going on between Myrl and the smith who had lifted him out of the sand. ¡°You boys! Check the drift, see if another crutch is bobbing in the surf!¡±


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡± and Myrl paused, not knowing how to address the burly Ghorma. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine in a moment. I just need to catch my breath.¡±


    Ignoring his king, the man turned now to a few men tending a very long steam box, set up to bend the thin planks to useful shapes. ¡°Gil, Scathar, grab a team and hitch the small wagon. We need to get this man back to the palace.¡± The three men stared at Myrl, and his benefactor, before the heavy armed man shouted ¡°OY! OY! OY! Go!¡± sending the three scrambling up the dunes toward a selection of small cabins.


    You look too fancy to be here, sire.¡± He said, now turning to Myrl with a wink. ¡°A Talent. And well very dressed. One legged, at that. HA! Never met a king before!¡±


    Myrl was still trying to balance himself as the man turned back to him with a small leather wrapped bundle, twisting and tying twine about the leather.


    ¡°This is for you. Uhm, sire.¡± The man whispered that last. ¡°We¡¯ll get you back up where you belong in no time at all.¡±


    From where he leaned on the stand that held an assortment of hammers and tongs, Myrl could see a small wagon trundling down the beaten path between the dunes.


    In his hands, he could feel the shape of his small belt knife through the thin leather into which it had been wrapped.

 Shadows and Ice

    Ashe knelt on the stone floor of the corridor in the bowels of the palace, as the pain of the attack slowly ebbed. He stared at the rough stone, watching as one after another blood dripped from his split lip into a slowly expanding puddle. Someone near him cried like a small, lost child.


    Sliding his left hand forward, he pushed off the ground to stand. His leg muscles practically vibrated with the pain of bone weary fatigue.


    ¡­slowly in¡­ 1¡­ 2¡­ 3¡­ 4¡­ 5¡­ the air cut at the tender flesh inside of his long nose as he counted the inhale in his thoughts, and then held the breath for a seven count, before releasing that breath in a controlled release of a nine count. His mind was fuzzy, and his thoughts hazy and distant as he tried to force himself to concentrate on his surroundings.


    They had come down stairs to retrieve the king''s belt knife. There were problems with it that the Master from the Masons¡¯ Guild had said they needed the king himself to see to.


    After breaking their fast, Myrl had insisted on coming down himself. And he and Ash and the guards had come down to the sight of where Myrl had almost been killed. They had spoken with some of the workers, an architect, and several masons.


    ¡­and then Myrl¡­ did something¡­ he had his crutches, he bent down to look at¡­ no, he reached for¡­ and ¡­ and here his mind shied away from thinking about what it had just experienced.


    Ashe let his gaze move about the room. Myrl was gone, and the last place he had seen his ward was now empty of everything it had previously held. Not only was Myrl absent, but the place where he had knelt just prior to the attack was now a clean open circle on the floor. His brow bunched and knotted in perplexity.


    There was rapid movement, glancing to his left, Ashe saw that a man was running into the hall from another corridor, and looked panicked. It was one of the serving staff. He was a tall, lanky young man with bad posture and worse skin. Ashe had sent him to the Leech Hall a month ago to get his stoop looked at, but according to Veda, he was more concerned with clearing up his spots than doing any exercises to be able to stand up straight.


    ¡°Chaulker!¡± He called, and the boy turned from the guard who was crying on the floor in a fetal position to run over to Ashe. He offered his hand to help Ashe stand, which mildly impressed the Lord. Ashe had such a ¡°dark¡± reputation that many of the staff refused to get too close to the man.


    ¡°My lord Ashe!¡± The boy said. ¡°I heard the screaming and the crying, and I came running. But when I got to the door, everyone in here was surrounded by lightning!¡±


    ¡°So, you stayed out of the hall?¡± He asked the boy.


    ¡°Lightning, my lord!¡± He looked on the verge of panic himself, though he had not apparently been hit by the ¡°lightning.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Lightning. But you stayed in the other corridor, and were safe from it? It didn¡¯t touch you?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Chaulker realized that Lord Ashe wasn¡¯t upbraiding him for cowardice. ¡°No, it stopped well short of the door. It kept jumping from man to man, and running along the floor like a plague of rats, but it never went further than ¡®ol Gurney there!¡± He pointed at one of the masons sitting up now, who was closest to the door to the southern corridor, but still three body lengths from the entrance.


    ¡°And then what happened? Did you see anything else?¡± Ashe¡¯s breathing was beginning to come back under his control.


    ¡°Yes!¡± The king was screaming, and rolling on the floor, and then everyone near him was shoved away from him like a kid with blocks pushing everything away! Even the tools and the new bricks and cut stone piles around him move away from him. And then he was gone, and it all stopped.¡±


    Ashe swung his head back to where the king had been. Myrl had been looking at the spot on the floor to which his knife had been immovably stuck. And now everything that had been around Myrl was pushed into a wide circle surrounding the empty place.


    He walked to the cleared area as steadily as his aching legs would allow, and saw that, indeed, everything had been shoved out radially, even the dirt and detritus.


    Myrl was missing. It was possible that whoever had attacked them had taken him.


    Ashe reached out and felt for his apprentice and king through the myriad connections they shared and had forged that bound the two men together now.


    ¡­the boy is East of here¡­ and he is very confused¡­ and he is incredibly tired¡­ A shock of fear for Myrl went through Ashe as he put together that Myrl had Stepped through Shadows in his clumsy way, and somehow had done it in a way that skirted close to the boy¡¯s own limits.


    But he could not sense that he was any worse off now than he had been before the attack had happened. He looked about the chamber, and spotted some deeper shadows in the Southern corner.


    Before he could make his way to them, a red light suffused the area around him, and even ate at the available shadows that he had planned to use. He was curious as to what was causing this shift in the lighting.


    Someone behind him screamed.


    Spinning about, Ashe saw an apparition floating above the prone body of one of the workers. The ephemeral form moved through the air as though a thin rag were drifting on a current in a stream while caught on a submerged root, looking for all of Thach to have been crafted from red candle light that had taken the shape of a shrouded woman. The thing now hovered above its seeming victim.


    Ashe moved toward the mirage, and held out a hand to it as he began focusing his mind to trigger a spell of Delving. In an instant, his mind moved out from the crude confines of his body to reach out inquisitively to the floating aberration.


    It was wrong.


    Had his eyes been what he was using to view this thing before him, they would have been burned from his skull in an overwhelming wash of light and agony. It was like gazing into the sun at noon trying to find details that explained the phenomenon.


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    It was RED.


    It was LIGHT.


    As he gazed longer into the center of the sad, flickering plea for aid, it was ¡­a trapped soul.


    Ashe had no idea how this could have come to pass, and could not imagine how such a powerful soul had been trapped in such a manner. He couldn¡¯t see the bindings that held the soul, but through the senses of his Delving, his mind could feel the shape of the bonds that held this trapped being here in this illusory form.


    What he could guess was its head, were he to truly anthropomorphize the being floating before him, turned its regard on Ashe.


    And it screamed a string of words at him.


    ¡°I-MUST-PAY-THE-BARGAIN!¡±


    While Delving, a wizard could not generally speak, as they had left the parts of their body that did the speaking behind. With a concerted effort, Ashe called himself back to his body, ending the Deving, and stood once again where he had been when the spell had started.


    It had only been a fraction of a breath, barely a noticeable moment, to those outside of his Delving spell. Any Delving treated time differently to the caster than it did those outside of the spell. A perceptible hour Delving was a heartbeat to those watching.


    Ashe stood now, and said, simply, ¡°What?¡± As the red image broke apart and dissipated on winds none here could feel.


    Standing, watching the light fully fade from the broad hallway, Ashe held up his hand to silence the murmur of those who had witnessed its arrival and now puzzled at its departure. Some saw its arrival, thinking that whatever had attacked them all had shown its face, such as it was, to finish them all off.


    Panic amongst the injured had been on the rise until it had winked out. Ashe wasn¡¯t ready to assign  the attack they had suffered to the apparition, though.


    Nothing in its bearing under his Delving had spoken to him of intending any harm, though to his mind¡¯s touch it had reeked of a desperate longing. A deeply seeded need had radiated from the thing more potent than the red light it had been emitting here in the corridor, and on the plain where the Delving took place,  his mind could feel its fear-wracked urge to deliver¡­ something.


    But it was gone now, and over the sounds of those around him struggling back to their feet, and talking to one another to assess their hurts and injuries, he could also hear the matched footsteps of a squad of guards approaching from the northern end of the corridor.


    Behind him a few paces, Chaulker stood transfixed by the fading red light.


    ¡°What did you see, Chaulker?¡± He asked.


    ¡°My lord¡­ I¡¯m not at all sure.¡± The servant looked perplexed. ¡°I saw a bright red light. And then you stepped to it and raised your hand. Then it let out a terrible scream, and we all that heard it yelped back at it. I think it surprised us all, though for my part M¡¯lord, I was terrified something fierce.¡±


    Ashe noticed the boy¡¯s accent had gone from Palace Raised to North Ghlow Trade Streets in the time it had taken Ashe to Delve the thing.


    ¡°But you drove it away, m¡¯lord, and now we all need to see to cleaning ourselves up some.¡± Realizing he may have just made a fecal reference to the second most powerful man in the palace, Chaulker¡¯s eyes went wide in embarrassment.


    ¡°When it screamed, did you hear what it said?¡± Ashe asked, ignoring Chaulker¡¯s discomfort.


    ¡®Uhm, no, my lord. It just let out a screech as you lifted your hand and did your wizardry at it. An¡¯ then it faded away to naught.¡±


    Ashe sighed. He had been hoping the lad could have confirmed for him what he had heard. He didn¡¯t know what it meant. Yet.


    But knowing what it had screamed was the first step in figuring out what it may have meant.


    The squad of palace guards had arrived, their leader looking about the hallway, his eyes scanning the faces of all present, before focusing upon the Lord Ashe. There was a fleeting look on the man¡¯s face of¡­ disappointment?


    The sergeant held up his hand, gesturing his men to stay, and trotted over to Ashe. He bowed precisely to the Lord Ashe.


    ¡°My Lord¡­¡± he began. ¡°There has been¡­ a person¡­ an emissary lately arrived at the gate wishing an audience with the King.¡±


    The sergeant looked about significantly at that last.


    Ashe raised an eyebrow at the man. Just that.


    ¡°The emissary is being taken to a room for refreshments and relaxation until a time when his majesty can see her, at the Master Page Lord Baison¡¯s insistence.¡± His pause gave away to Ashe that the man did not agree with extending any form of hospitality to this emissary.


    And then, the reason became clear. ¡°They claim to be from the old troll hag and her cattle thieves who hide up in the Dragon''s Teeth Mountains.¡±


    He let that last bit drop from his lips like a piece of rancid gristle.


    ¡°Sergeant,¡± Lord Ashe began, his voice as cold as the stones at the bottom of the harbor. ¡°You mean to tell me that a political representative from Her Grace, Domina Erkinseka Sammish, of the Cloven Peaks¡¯ Clan, Our ally and a personal friend to His Majesty, King Myrl, has arrived here at the palace. You also mean to tell me that this emissary¡¯s needs are being seen to and are now being overseen by Lord Baison, Herald to His Majesty.¡±


    Ashe noticed the man was not from one of the units that had come South from Jibiril Keep with Myrl, but was a Southern Coastal Rhiadian. From his accent, the young sergeant was probably from South Wall, or somewhere near. From his tone, the man was probably raised to look down on the Orcish tribes that inhabited the mountain ranges of the Northern half of the country.


    He also noticed that the man was turning red at being not too subtly corrected by Lord Ashe. ¡°Who and where is your Captain, sergeant?¡±


    The question landed like a hammerblow. No one asked for a sergeant¡¯s captain for good reasons. The man stood at attention, suddenly as straight as a spear shaft. The look of fear on his face, and the line of sweat building on his upper lip and forehead spoke volumes. ¡°Captain Abbar, My Lord.¡± His voice was at least steady.


    ¡°Sergeant,¡± he produced from the inner pocket of his mantle a folded piece of parchment sealed with the king''s own seal. ¡°I will need you and the men of your squad to deliver this note to your Captain, and then your entire unit, and your Captain, will report to me at the fourth bell in the West Courtyard. ¡±


    ¡°The entire unit, my lord?¡± The man wasn¡¯t quaking. But he was close enough that Ashe could sense the minor tremor in the man¡¯s right leg.


    ¡°All of you. And Captain Abbar. Dismissed.¡±


    ¡°My Lord!¡± The young sergeant did a smart turn on his heels and marched back to his squad, signaling them all to follow. They fell in behind the young man, and marched with speed and precision from the corridor, back up the northern hallway.


    Turning back to the servant, Chaulker, ¡°Please go over there and help the master mason to his feet, and then run to the Leech Hall, and bring back a few healers to look at all of these people, please.¡±


    Ashe then strode past the young servant, heading toward the shadows in the southern corner by the doors to the hallways beyond. When he reached the shadows, Ashe pulled himself through the shadows there, and concentrated on the feel of Myrl.


    He had been with the young man for so many years at this point that stepping through Shadows to Myrl counted as a location to the gray skinned wizard. It didn¡¯t always work, as Myrl was current;y not near any large, deep shadows that Ashe could use. The closest shadow to his wayward ward was in a stand of birch and korwood trees growing along the Royal Road leading out from the Eastern Gate of the city. Ashe estimated from the duration in the shadow, and by how cold he was as he exited, that he was now at least a half of a mile East of the city. In the distance, he could see one of the busier shipyards.

 Wagons and Shoes

    ¡°You see, King Myrl, the best way to get a ship across an ocean is to make the hull as narrow as possible, and the masts and their booms as easily maneuvered by as few hands as possible¡­¡± The man had been talking for what felt like forever as Myrl sat huddled in the bed of the wagon. He drowsed as the wagon bumped and swayed its meandering way up through the dunes to the road. ¡°But any fool can be taught to reef the sails, it takes a careful set of hands to move the lines just right¡­¡± he continued.


    Wrapped in two layers, one inner layer of incredibly coarse felt and an outer layer of very thick canvas, Myrl had stopped shivering almost as soon as he had been wrapped in the smoky smelling layers. There was also the strong odor of redpine pitch, though Myrl found that soothing.


    The itchiness of the felt warred with the scratchy nature of sand that had somehow gotten into the deepest recesses of his smallclothes. His mind tried to fathom how that had happened so quickly when he had thought to have not been in the tide for more than the roiling of a single wave before he had been pulled out. But neither matter kept him from drooping his head and drifting in and out of sleep as the motion of the wagon rocked his exhausted body and soothed his mind.


    The Ghorma man, Bychol, was the blacksmith who had helped him up and out of the roiling tide after he had come to a stop from whatever had attacked him, and driven Myrl to use his Talent to force him to attempt Ashe¡¯s Shadow Stepping spell.


    It had gone spectacularly wrong with no shadows to step into or out from. ¡­or maybe, and this is just guessing, I¡¯m just not powerful enough of a Talent nor currently fit enough in mind or body to cast that spell¡­ and casting it a dozen times in a row brought me as close to either killing myself, possibly killing others, or suffering asologee as I ever have¡­ he let his thoughts berate him for the dangerous fool he had been. The wagon swayed on the road again, and Myrl half leaned, half rolled to one side.


    Bychol had begun to hum some pleasant melody, and occasionally threw a few lyrics out to the winds of Thach. Myrl grinned as his eyes closed again, his mood suddenly lighter than it had been.


    He yawned then, wide enough that his jaw cracked at the strain. Now he was tired beyond all reason.


    Not an organ to let him find peace, his mind was suddenly again churning and chewing over how this could have been a worse situation when the wagon slowed and he heard Bychol¡¯s jolly voice become a booming laugh riddled storm of surprise and joy as it addressed someone on the road.


    Myrl struggled to turn his head, and sit up from his sleepy slouch enough to see who Bychol was greeting as he slowed the heavy brown dray who had been placidly pulling the wagon along the road back to the city of Ghlow proper.


    ¡°Oh, my lord! Yes! I¡¯m by name of Bychol, and am the Master Smith of the Eastern Shipyard, which is to say, of the three smiths who work under the royal seal at the shipyard, I speak the loudest. HA!¡±


    Then he heard the voice of his mentor, protector, advisor, and closest companion. Lord Ashe stepped up onto the toe-board of the wagon, and leaned over to inspect the wrapped package in the bed. His gray face smiled down at Myrl, and both men laughed lightly.


    ¡°You have been dearly missed, Your Majesty.¡± Ashe said. ¡°Not only were several members of the guard put into a panic, but I was beside myself with worry. Also, while you have decided to skirt your duties to play at the seashore, you have visitors who want a moment of your time, and would appreciate at least an hour of it if your inspection of the Eastern Shipyard Beaches are complete.


    ¡°Well, have I run off, or am I on an inspection of Our industries?¡± Myrl asked his oldest friend.


    ¡°That all depends on who is asking, sire.¡± Ashe answered with a quick look to their surroundings. ¡°One answer for one kind of busybody, and the other for the other.¡±


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s get back to the palace then. I have several things to talk to you about in your role as my tutor. And I desperately need some non-sand-filled clothing.¡± Myrl said. ¡°At this point I don¡¯t even need them to be particularly dry. Just not having sand in my britches would be a blessing.¡±


    ¡°My liege.¡± Ashe said simply.


    Myrl shrugged, and twisted, then slumped down.


    Then he rolled to his left.


    He then contorted and bent his encased body almost double on itself to his right. Then did the same again to his left, doing no more to free himself, but he did run his nose into the top of his remaining crutch.


    All the while he remained completely encased in his layers of heavy shrouds.


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    Ashe turned back to the driver, ¡°Was wrapping His Majesty thusly entirely required?¡±


    ¡°Oh, My lord,¡± the man said. ¡°He looked so cold, just popping into the water as he did. Wrapping him in the oakum sheet cloth and then in a sailcloth seemed like the better path than stripping him of his finery on the beach and putting the king into some poor plank-cutter¡¯s trews and geansaidh. And he wouldn¡¯t fit into my own clothes, if you pardon me saying. He¡¯s too tall, and not half wide enough. Are you folks feeding him enough at the castle, my lord?¡±


    ¡°Oh, we feed him more than you might imagine. Every morning. Our young monarch eats like a plow horse.¡±


    Bychol chuckled heavily at that.


    ¡°Gentlemen¡­¡±


    ¡°This was a good compromise, Master Smith. You¡¯ve earned His Majesty¡¯s thanks.¡± Ashe was smiling now, watching the king squirm and flail like a chrysalis attempting release as the rolled up bundle of royalty rolled about in the wagon¡¯s bed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that I have seen our king look safer than he looks right now.¡± Ashe said with great solemnity, leaning toward the man driving the small wagon.


    ¡°My Lord Ashe, if you would be so kind. Need I remind you that I¡¯m right here?¡± His muffled voice floated up from the floor of the wagon.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the man sounded contrite. ¡°Yes, your majesty. Too true. Master Smith, if you would be so kind as to drive off the road up ahead to the left, and into the treeline?¡±


    No sooner had the wagon entered the treeline, and the shadows folded about the back of the wagon when the man calling himself Bychol felt a cold wind stir behind him. There followed a chuffing noise, and the sound of several stones of fabric falling back into the bed, shaking the body of the rig heavily as it landed.


    An hour later, taking a hopping half step out from his bathroom, the king steamed from the hot water of his bath as he rushed to pull a fresh, clean, NON-sand-laden, black tunic over his still very wet head. He would have lost his balance, but someone, most likely Lord Ashe, had set a pair of maids on him like vicious guard dogs whose sole job was to redress the young king in acceptable fashion the moment Myrl had emerged from the bathing chamber.


    He was roughly turned one direction and then another as the two women stripped his back tunic back off from when he had inadvertently wrapped it around his head, and then forced him awkwardly into a pair of wide, bright blue pants, cinching them about his waist.


    ¡°GAH!¡± was all he was allowed to say before he was bodily lifted from the floor from behind by one maid while the other stole his towel, and forced his good leg, and the other one, into fresh smallclothes and pants. Looking at the two petite older women, he would not have guessed at their wrestling prowess, nor would have won any bets he might have chosen to make about their sheer strength.


    They then forced him into a chair and one maid applied a dazzlingly woven leg wrap about his lower left leg, while the other pinned up the loose right pant leg before pinning it in place and wrapping the lower thigh, knee and remainder of his lower right leg in a matching woven wrap. He had seen experienced herders not able to subdue their charges with the certainty and economy of motion these two women possessed.


    Myrl had tried to object, but was stopped by Lord Ashe placing his index finger on the wide gray lips of his apathetic mouth. From the corner where he stood reading from a song book recently acquired from Parthique, Lord Ashe looked as though he had not been paying the least bit of attention to Myrl¡¯s discomfort, but his simple shushing gesture told Myrl that his mentor was very much present.


    A lurid red tunic was suddenly on his body in a dizzying set of motions, and a wide, heavy decorated belt was secured about his waist. A new, soft soled, ankle boot was being tied on to his left foot. Myrl didn¡¯t remember a stocking being put on his foot and pulled up, but it must have happened some time before the leg wrap went on. He was suddenly concerned. Were these maids Talents?


    One maid tied his single shoe, and the other moved around to the back of the chair and began to vigorously dry his hair before attempting to brush the tangles out. After the first few jarring, neck bending, scalp tugging moments, the process became very pleasant, but those first dire moments almost made Myrl call out for his guards.


    As he sat in the chair, now straight backed and accepting the ministrations of the pair of maids to lock down finer details of his raiment, Myrl heard the sound of a small cart being wheeled into the room from the hall and turned his head to see one of the kitchen staff pushing in a small table set with a repast of sliced meats, a steaming bowl of soup, a heel of bread, and a large mug of tea.


    When it reached Myrl¡¯s side, he began to eat at a feverish pace. He devoted himself so fully to the task that he failed to notice the maids finish up with dressing him for public consumption and then swiftly departing the royal rooms. By the time he did notice, Ashe was coming to sit across from him in the small stool that faced the chair he sat in.


    ¡°Sire.¡± his mentor began before pausing briefly, as though what he said next needed its own sentence. ¡°You have have an audience with a representative of Her Grace, Domina Erkinseka Sammish, of the Cloven Peaks¡¯ Clan.¡±


    Myrl slowly put down his tea and asked, ¡°Does Donk know she¡¯s here?¡±


    Ashe raised an eyebrow. ¡°Not through any official channel. Not as yet. They arrived just after the attack, and are now waiting in the guest wing. We will summon their Emissary once you are ready.¡±


    ¡°And what else?¡±


    Ashe watched Myrl.


    With a sigh, he said, simply, ¡°We have had news from Her Majesty of Parthique, and she is, once one reads past the diplomatic language of her letter presented to me by HER Emissary, who arrived while you were bathing, she is beyond ...pissed.¡±


    ¡°Her daughter attempted to kill me.¡±


    ¡°I remember.¡± Ashe said, ¡°I was there, too.¡±

 An Envoy and an Envoy

    The king made his way with as much grace and as steadily as he could while using his crutches to navigate the path from the Grand Portal, down the center of the Great Hall of the Throne Room, to the stairs of the dais on which the Royal Throne of the Kingdom of Rhiada sat. With a slight sigh, Myrl reached his throne, and turned to face those who had come to petition the crown today. His hair was still damp from his quick bath, and he thought there may still inexplicably be sand stuck to tender skin. He sat and looked out on the throne room, lit with the golden light of late afternoon slanting through the high windows nested far above in the domed ceiling.


    The two very different sets of emissary missions stood opposite each other along the path marking the center aisle of the large room down which he and his retainers had just strode.


    Or, as Myrl considered, the group had slowly and solemnly walked patiently as their lamed king crutched his way forward.


    He had done his best to ignore his surroundings, and the possible looks of pity in the many sets of watching eyes that littered the throne room, any time the king needed to make his way to the throne. And now, seated on his family¡¯s literal seat of power, Myrl saw the faces of those who wanted explanations from him now as though he had been some child skipping his lessons called to the carpet by an angry set of tutors.


    Lord Baison, white goose tabard and matching staff resplendent, stepped forward, and began the litany of invocations and proclamations that began each and every Royal Court. Myrl used the moments available to study the people newly come to Ghlow specifically to talk to him. One party, he knew, would claim insult and sought redress. The others? Myrl did not know.


    To the left stood a contingent of ten men and women from Parthique. Visions of sophistication and style, all of Ocre descent, who dressed in the most impressive rainbow array of silks, accented with golden jewelry and ornaments. Many of that party looked ill at ease in their loose and flowing finery, too much of their sun darkened skin exposed and covered in goosebumps because their lovely clothing was not at all suited to the Rhiadian winter. Their lead ambassador stood in determined disinterest. The man ignored the cold, the damp, and the indignity of being in the presence of the other group of envoys.


    Across from the contingent from Parthique stood a distinctly different set of petitioners to the Crown.


    An Orc woman dressed in well made leathers lined with furs. Greenish brown skin, with blue highlights and ruddy brown hair held back from falling into her face by a thick silver band with golden serpents, her face was narrow, high cheeked and dominated by an aquiline hatchet blade of a nose. Close to seven feet in height, she had removed her weapons to be admitted to the throne room, but still wore a scabbard at her hip wider than Myrl¡¯s own hand, and on the opposite hip rode an empty knife sheath that would almost be large enough for a Kingdom short sword.


    Her clothing was well made, and emphasized her practicality of having traveled through the mountains, where her people resided, to the capitol city.


    Behind her stood three other Orcs, all with the traditional coloration of the Cloven Peaks Clan of muddied greens with blue accents. Two women and a man. Like their leader, they had all dressed for traveling in the cold, and all had either surrendered their arms, or they had left them in the rooms they had been given to rest in while Myrl had been otherwise occupied. All three, unlike their mistress, wore heavy boots, the actual emissary having chosen to wear sturdy sandals strapped and buckled on the outside of her pant legs all the way up to her knees.


    Were Myrl to guess, he would suspect that one group sought to intimidate him with their wealth and opulence, while the other group decided to try to intimidate him by being absolutely terrifying.


    The young king may suffer from all of the follies of young men everywhere, he knew he would not be intimidated by either faction. The Parthiqueen could not make him regret his lack of silks and gold, because he had plenty of either commodity, but linen and wool were better choices for the cold, damp Ghlow winters. The Cloven Peaks Clan would not intimidate Myrl because their being bigger than him was not something that gave them any tactical advantage. Myrl had fought Orcs before. They were much larger than the average human, yes.


    Myrl knew for a fact that Orcs died just like anyone else.


    Baison had just finished his announcements.


    ¡°Friends and allies, all, thank you for coming to visit my home, and present yourselves to my Court. I hope We may arrive at common ground and mutual friendship in the days to come.¡± It was a common, noncommittal way for Myrl to begin and left the petitioners plenty of leeway in how they would address their issues to the Crown.


    Myrl turned his gaze specifically to the Parthiqueen.


    Baison hailed the stern looking man, and began to announce his credentials to the Court. His strong tenor voice shouting out to the furthest reaches of the throne room to let all and sundry assembled know the validity and nobility of their guest.


    ¡°May the Light of Great Mother Rhoona Bless those who have witnessed this Day the Coming of Our Friend and Ally, Master of the Parthiqueen Navy, Prince Nodensey, the Hound of the Summer Isles, third child of Queen¡­¡± the man continued on as the ambassador stepped forward and waved a hand to silence the Royal Herald.


    ¡°Yes, Yes, yes..¡± He said to Myrl, Baison, and the assembled observers of the Court. ¡°I am Nodensey, and I am Oh so Royal, and very handsome, and look how I can stand and walk on my own.¡±


    Myrl did not flinch at the unfortunate turn of phrase, but he did give the man his fullest attention.


    Like his younger brother, Odilien, who had come with his twin sister months ago to open relations between Parthique and Rhiada, the man was tall, shaved his head, and sported a neatly trimmed little goatee without a mustache. He stood easily a half a foot taller than Myrl mimself, and was long limbed and muscularly lean. The gold in his ears and about his neck contrasted beautifully with his dark complexion, and was set off in vibrancy by his dark blue robes of state.


    ¡°Do we all agree that I am who I say I am so that we may get on with speaking of important matters?¡±


    Myrl grinned, and he could feel Baison, behind him, standing rigid in affronted anger. The older man was about to speak, and so Myrl took the initiative, cutting off what most likely would have been a well spoken rebuttal. Upbraiding a prince, even one not the first in the direct line of succession, would have just started a fight that would lead to intransigent stands, and all form of metaphorical drawing of lines in the sand. He really didn¡¯t have the patience for this.


    ¡°Prince Nodensey, I welcome you to my Court, and I hope you may find rest, comfort, and friendship here. We hope your Mother in great esteem, and wish your house nothing but prosperity. Your younger brother, Prince Odilien, has been Our guest these last several months, and We have summoned him here as soon as We had learned of your arrival.¡±


    No sooner had the words left Myrl¡¯s mouth than there was a stirring at the back of the Hall, and Odilien, resplendent in robes of a deep indigo bordered with creamy white, stepped through the slowly parting crowd. He had ordered heavier robes made in a local style for the visiting prince to help ease the worst of this winter¡¯s chill from the poor man. The few times he had been able to visit, Odilien had been afraid to leave his rooms because of the harsh winter chill and razor-like winds that the seasonal storms had brought on.


    Myrl had remembered how cold Jibiril Keep, far to the north of the capital city of Ghlow, had felt to him when he had first been forced to move there by his uncle and knew Odilien and his sister were used to a much warmer kingdom than his own. Though, in its defence, the Rhiadian summers had never gotten hot enough to make Myrl wish for winter so fervently as the summers in Parthique and Lornholdt had.


    Odilien finally reached his older brother, and bowed to him with great solemnity before Prince Nodensey swatted him on the back of his smooth, brown head. He then whispered loud enough for Myrl to hear every word he hissed at his younger brother, while fingering the younger man¡¯s woolen overcoat with obvious disgust.


    ¡°Imb¨¦cile, qu''as-tu fait?¡± He said in Parthiqueen. ¡°La m¨¨re est folle de rage.¡±


    Myrl interpreted for himself. ¡°You fool, what have you done? Mother is beside herself with rage.¡± The slight of the strike to the back of the head might have made the younger man blush in embarrassed anger, but the words made Odilien visibly cringe.


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    Myrl pretended not to notice the familial drama playing out before him¡­ in his own court. Surrounded by onlookers. And he certainly kept his face blank, hoping to not let on that he was fluent in Parthiqueen. Myrl himself would have expected it of any other child of Royalty, as being conversant in your trade partners¡¯ tongues just made sense.


    Or in the tongues of your enemies.


    ¡°You have allowed yourself to be made a parrot by this boy king. And we have heard nothing of your sister. Where is Ocelia? Will she join us here in this ice room, or is she sitting in some dank cell? Is she alive? Do you even know?¡±


    Nodensey was getting more angry by the moment as he berated his younger brother. Odilien remained bowed the entire time, and silent, as his elder brother hissed at him.


    Myrl waved at the waiting servants by the southern entrance, and as they came forward with warmed drinks and light cloaks for the visitors he said to his guest, ¡°Lord Nodensey, please. I offer you the hospitality of my Hall, Hearth, and Home. I hope you and your retinue are able to find comfort as we strive to find common ground here in my Land.¡±


    Another set of servants silently came forward from the back of the hall carrying well padded, if simple chairs for Lord Nodendsey and Lord Odilien, who even now looked relieved as his older brother was distracted by warmth and drink.


    Once the two men were seated, Nodensey held his cup of fortified wine to his side where it was taken up by one of his servants. Looking directly at Myrl, the man said, ¡°I thank you for this warm welcome, but I am here pursuing rumors that have disturbed my Queen. We have heard rumors that my brother and sister have been slain.¡±


    He glanced dismissively at Odilien who gladly sipped at his warm cup of wine while ignoring his older brother, possibly in hopes to avoid angering the man further. Myrl thought the older man wasn''t being fair to his sibling, but Myrl also knew more than Nodensey about what had transpired here.


    ¡°My Queen will be delighted to hear that one of her children still lives.¡± his look at his younger brother had the edge of an unvoiced ¡­for now..


    ¡°Prince,¡± It was a calculated use of one of the many titles the man claimed, placing his rank below Myrl¡¯s own at the forefront for all to see. ¡°Both of your siblings live, and I have made certain that they both are in fine health and being treated as guests¡­¡±


    ¡°GUESTS? How can you say they are guests? You have kept prisoners, and We have not had any word from them since they arrived here in your little fiefdom! The ship they came on, We have heard, has been taken by force and the crew all put to the sword, if not just thrown overboard!¡±


    The man was working himself up to a fit of rage now, and Myrl was feeling his own hackles rising as well. This man has been lied to, or has made assumptions, and now wants a fight¡­ He thought, ¡­and he is trying to goad me into the same mindset¡­


    Even the other Envoy took sudden notice of the doings of the little humans around them, where feigned indifference had been their tendency up to now. Their leader rolled her eyes at the spectacle.


    ¡°Now my brother looks thin, have you been starving him here in this wet, cold land? You have even dressed him like one of your peasants!¡± Nodensey was working himself up further. ¡°You have kept him and his sister as your prisoners, IF she even lives! Why have we not heard from them back home? No letters in the diplomatic pouch? What have you hidden here, boy?¡±


    Silence rained down upon the hall, as those in attendance suddenly ceased all murmuring and stared at the party of Parthique Envoys. Several guards visible to Myrl from his throne who were arrayed about the Great Hall adjusted their grips on the hafts of their spears as Nodensey raised his voice. Myrl felt comforted that his people were, indeed, HIS People. Nodensey¡¯s people, meanwhile, each held a warm cup in one hand, dropping the number of hands available to draw and hold daggers by half for at least a 5 count.


    Though the striking woman in red and orange silks who stood behind his right shoulder held two, and looked like she had finished her own draught and now contemplated also drinking her lord¡¯s warm beverage.


    It was that use of ¡°...boy.¡± The man had invested so much scorn and deliberate mockery into the word. Myrl knew the man was only four years older than himself, but the derision, contempt, and feeling of ridicule still stung. Myrl gathered his will, and formed the thoughts he wanted to use into the right shape with his Talent and exhaled slowly as he used that gathered will to push.


    ¡°Silence serves you better than lies.¡± He said it just loud enough for his spell to carry it directly to Nodensey¡¯s ears. ¡°If you want to throw around horseshit, I can have my guards escort you to the stables, Prince Nodensey. You are in MY kingdom. You are in MY city. You are in MY home.¡±


    Nodensey looked like he was about to shout. To stand up from his chair and yell at the king, but neither would his mouth open, nor could he lift himself from his chair.


    And with that revelation, a look of abject terror crawled over his face.


    Once again speaking to the entire Hall, Myrl continued.


    ¡°He has not been held hostage, though his twin has been kept in a state of magical slumber by Our Talented medical staff, for the safety of Myself and those in my charge, which includes Lord Odilien. Your ship fled from Our docks within minutes of the incident, and was overtaken by one of My own ships who had been given orders to chase it down. No lives were lost in the taking of that pretty little wallowing tub. All of that ship¡¯s crew has survived and is being held in a guarded inn near the docks. You probably walked past the inn on your way here, in fact. They, happily, will be released into your care and allowed to return with you to Parthique. The captain of the Silver Cloud, however¡± he used the ship''s old name, not wanting to inflame the visiting prince more than necessary.


    ¡°...has been held for questioning, and we have sent the results of those interrogations to your Queen. If She has chosen to not share those details with you, that is between you and She who you serve, Prince Nodensey.¡± Here he drew out the title, because he could.


    ¡°You expect me to believe these silly Mermaid Stories? Then where is Lady Ocelia? Why does she not come to greet me as her brother has? I am...¡± and here he tried again to rise, but couldn¡¯t break the bonds of force that Myrl had used to hold him to the chair, and the chair to the stone floor.


    ¡°WHAT is this trickery!?¡± Nodensey yelled.


    ¡°Sixteen people.¡± Having now had enough, Myrl said, his voice ringing through the Hall. Not yelling, just projecting, and done so with deadly calm.


    Nodensey stopped mid rant, and stared now at Myrl. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nodensey, your sister killed sixteen people when she arrived in my Court.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± The handsome man looked shocked at the revelation.


    Myrl could no longer look any more irritated at the interruptions. ¡°Your Mother¡¯s ¡®Envoy of Peace and Trade¡¯ killed six of my people, and ten more of your own people, from her and her brother¡¯s staff..¡± He spoke with sharp words, delivered with deliberately controlled diction, and spoken loud enough for every person in the Hall to hear every nuance. The King took a deep breath.


    ¡°I and my advisor, Lord Ashe, used our combined Talents to keep your sister from killing your brother, and the rest of those in attendance. You could ask him about that day, since you might believe him, and not my own word on these matters, and your Queen has not seen fit to share the details with you.¡± Myrl casually reached out to his right, and a servant who stood inconspicuously behind his throne handed him a small cup filled with tea and a twist of orange. ¡­delicious¡­ He thought, taking a sip before handing the cup back.


    ¡°Some of my more vocal advisors have begged me to ¡®put an end to this danger.¡¯ I will continue to listen to their advice without acting upon it. I don¡¯t enjoy the idea of keeping a strong, untrained Talent who wants to kill me here in Ghlow, but I would prefer for you to take your sister home with you, instead.¡± He let that implication drop gracelessly into Nodensey¡¯s lap.


    At the words ¡°Talent,¡± ¡°End,¡± and ¡°Danger,¡± in reference to Lady Ocelia, Nodensey flinched. He, just like his brother Odilien, apparently hadn¡¯t known his little sister was a Talent.


    ¡°Your Queen was informed of the exact events that transpired here, and the list of those your younger sister slew, both yours and Ours, was included in that list. I do not know what you have been told before your voyage here, though it looks like very little of substance. I do not know why you were not informed of how your sister and brother have been kept and for what reasons. You have come here being told a very little it seems, and assuming a great deal. Maybe this gap is how Parthique distinguishes between a Monarch and an Heir, but that is none of my concern.¡±


    That last comment was received like a slap. Behind him, Lord Ashe tensed and Myrl could feel the man¡¯s displeasure. Myrl didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Prince Nodensey, you have seen just the very edges of the decisions I have had to make, and have seen none of the choices with which I was faced. This is, I hope you will take time to ponder, the truth of the differences between being a prince out to sea on his ship, and being the monarch in his own kingdom.¡±


    The prince stood. Myrl allowed it, having released the prince from the charm that had held him in place. Slowly, testing his freedom, Nodensey rose.


    He turned to the lovely woman who held his cup, and held out his hand. Turning back to Myrl, his face running in the scattered directions of shock, sadness, and uncertainty, he raised his cup to Myrl, and following a bow, drank down the mulled wine he had been given.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Nodensey said low in a flat voice, ¡°I apologise. I spoke in anger and in haste. I was asea when I had received the Queen¡¯s orders to come here and retrieve my errant siblings.¡±


    Myrl looked at the man, and then to his younger brother, Odilien looked back with surprise scrawled large across his features.


    ¡°My Lord, Odilien, would you be so kind as to lead your brother and his servants to the suite of rooms beside your own in the North Wing? I will have meals and warmer clothing sent along, and you can all catch up on family matters together before we speak again.¡± With a gesture, several of the same servants who had brought drinks stepped forward to show the Parthiqueen party to their rooms. Two other servants then scampered forward in their wake to take the chairs from the Hall.


    Turning his head and his attention now to the other party waiting on his Royal notice, Myrl smiled at the large Orc woman who now looked attentively back at the young king, and offered, ¡°Rabda, it¡¯s been too long! Have you finally come to marry me?¡±

 An Introduction

    Slowly and with great care, Debdlyn knelt and removed the shingle-drum from his pack while the young woman who led their party addressed the little king-man. He had not been prepared for how tiny the man was, even having seen humans before. But, he mused while tightening the rawhide bindings that held down the hrutar hide cover across the thin frame of the drum, that when one thought of monarchs, they tended toward thoughts of the grandiose.


    His own queen, Morag Avol Nighean-Jochschlann, long may she reign, was a handsome woman by any Orc¡¯s standard. She was a full two feet taller than Debdlyn¡¯s own seven feet tall that he knew himself to be.


    Now, he thought as he slowly stood back up with his drum in hand, she was a queen a bard could really sing about. This young man? He looked a little like the child who had come to their village with the Gray Mage years ago and interrupted a small war they had been having.


    Is that the same boy, he wondered. Has he not grown at all these last ten years? What has he been doing with himself that he couldn¡¯t be bothered to grow a few feet?


    As he focused his old eyes, Debdlyn thought that he could see the Gray Mage standing behind the little king¡¯s fancy chair. His scarred brows knotted and raised slightly at the sight of the odd colored human. He knew that the man they called ¡°Lord Ashe¡± was the most dangerous thing in this anthill of a city. He shook himself to be rid of the feelings of foreboding at seeing the human who burned the eyes from so many healthy Orc warriors on that cold day a decade gone.


    The young heir to his own Queen Morag, Badba, was finishing up her banter with the little king, and so Debdlyn began his humming that heralded the beginning of his Singing In the Parlay, a tradition as old as the Mountains themselves, and he would be damned a thousand deaths before he failed to do his duty by the Lays, Laws, and Lore.


    As his humming started, Badba gave him a glance of irritation. It almost made Debdlyn break his rhythm and laugh. He remembered being young and filled with the need to dance like the hares on the mountain side in the presence of the opposite sex, though he questioned her flirting with the little human. Surely he wasn¡¯t a serious contender for her affections, was he?


    Not only did he look tiny compared to herself, but from where he stood, the young man was even missing a foot. An ENTIRE foot! Was the boy trying to get even smaller? The elderly bard just would never understand young women. Certainly not this young woman. Maybe it was all down to how she had been raised, her grandmother was known to enjoy reading foreign books. His own people rarely produced books, but when they did, all of the tribes would read the book. Learning quickly what another took a lifetime to gain was not regarded as virtuous by most Orcs, but knowledge was knowledge once gotten, and if it was found to be akin to truth, to turn it down was an insult.


    Taking up the rhythm of his humming, he began to strike the front of his shingle-drum with the cipin. The stubby, dual sided drum stick spun in his broad fingers as he wound up to begin beating out the meter of his song. ARound the outer circumference of the drum, along its frame, there were small cavities that held cymbals of finely knapped rock crystals. The ¡°shingles¡± that gave the drum its name began to dance and sing along with the rhythm as he played.


    In the old language, the true language of his people, he began to sing, filling the hall with his baritone voice as he called for the blessings of the Goddesses of the Mountains and the Skies. It was not the song that Badba was expecting, but with how she and the little human king were making eyes at one another like the silly, besotted hruturi that they were.


    I am Wind in the Valley,


    I am Waving of the Heath,


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    I am Roar of Mountain Storm,


    I am the Lightning from on High,


    I am an Drake on the Cliff,


    I am a Tear of Rhoona,


    I am the rarest Flower,


    I am the rooting Boar,


    I am the Swift Salmon,


    I am the clear Tarn in the Pass,


    I am the Forest Lord,


    I am the Talent of Art,


    I am the Spear, Battle Hardened.


    In the hand of your Queen.


    They are the gods, who put Fire in the Mind.


    Who but I know the Cycles of the Brothers¡¯ Moons?


    Who but I know the place where Rhoona Sleeps?


    The little king grinned broadly at Debdlyn as he played and sang, before he started nodding his head and lightly clapping his little hands along with the beat. Several of the crowd surrounding their party began, as if to imitate their king, to clap and nod along with this song they didn¡¯t know.


    The boy at least has rhythm, Debdlyn thought. I guess that¡¯s something to look for in a mate.


    It was then that he noticed the looks of horror on both the face of the Gray Mage and on that of his Queen¡¯s heir, Badba. Badba¡¯s face was slowly wandering away from horror and picking its careful way through the thorny mazes of anger and trying to reach the plateaus of refined rage.


    Debdlyn smiled as he continued. Just barely escaping ruining his performance with laughter as he sang and played.


    In the fertile Valley,


    Clothes laid across the Waving of the Heath,


    We Roar upon Mountain, and mimic the Storm,


    He is the Lightning from on High,


    Drakes fly over the flowering fields,


    With a cry like mighty Rhoona,


    I am the rarest Flower,


    As strong as the charging Boar,


    As swift as the Sun Kissed Salmon,


    The Tarn¡¯s Waters feed the Pass,


    Oh, the Forest Lord,


    Of Talent and of Art,


    Be the Spear, Battle Hardened.


    In the hand of your Queen.


    Debdlyn finished with a flourish in a clear tenor, and the shale cymbals along the outer edge of the drum¡¯s frame chimed in a final crescendo.


    The hall around their party erupted in clapping and cheers as though this were some kind of knees-up at the local tavern. Badba, no longer wearing her coat, looked at him with the banked rage of someone who cannot throttle you in public, being surrounded by strangers who might tattle on you to your mother. Or, gods and goddesses forfend, your grandmother.


    ¡°Debdlyn, my dearest uncle,  when next it rains, I will steal all of your socks.¡±


    She spoke softly, and in the Old Tongue. As was only proper.


    The king laughed and said in that same language, shocking Debdlyn, ¡°Put wet rot moss in his spare pants, too. That might teach him.¡± The lad¡¯s voice was unaccented, or possibly carried the lilting Cleft Peaks accent that all three members of the party spoke. But he also had the beautiful intonations and meter of someone who might be training to be a bard themselves.


    Badba smiled at the elderly Orcish bard, her wide mouth stretching in a rictus of unexpected embarrassment at the inappropriate song that matched her widened eyes as she learned that Myrl spoke their language. And he spoke it as well as a poet.


    Debdlyn¡¯s eyes widened at the implication.


    The king heard the song, and knew exactly the kind of song of sex in the Spring time it had been.


    Debdlyn began to blush furiously.


    Up on his throne, King Myrl launched into a long peel of laughter.